In this Universe or the Next
by AlwaysVictory
Summary: Three years after the War, Harry and Hermione are thrown through the Veil during a Death Eater attack at the Department of Mysteries. Instead of dying, they end up in a world where Muggles travel among the stars. Follow Harry and Hermione in their adventures in the Star Trek universe, saving as many lives as they can – starting with the defeat of Nero.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

 **Set:** Three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and right before the _Narada_ incident.

Beta Love: _**Scarlet Dewdrops,**_ _ **Insanity-Red.**_

* * *

Chapter 1

It had been a little over three years since the War ended. Hogwarts, and many other buildings, businesses, and homes destroyed or damaged by Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been painstakingly rebuilt in a community effort.

Lives were not so easily rebuilt.

For the Weasleys, the pain of losing Fred was still very near. Naturally, it was hardest on George – but with the help of his loving family and Angelina Johnson, with whom he had grown very close, he had slowly begun to move on with his life.

But even those who had not lost someone personally were not spared from the nightmares. Some had them more than others – but what was universal was the way the dreams seemed to linger. Maybe they would never go away. Maybe that was the price of living through a war.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had done their best to move on with their lives and help rebuild the Wizarding World.

Harry and Ron had opted out of more schooling in favour of starting their careers as Aurors. Choosing the accelerated track, they successfully completed the requisite training within a year and began their work as members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – largely focusing on hunting down the Death Eaters who had evaded capture. Now, three years later, there were only a handful of them left running around loose. The rest were safely in Azkaban or, like Lucius and Draco Malfoy, pardoned. Unfortunately, the remaining rogue Death Eaters were getting more bold, desperate, and dangerous.

Hermione, bookworm and overachiever that she was, had decided to return to Hogwarts, finish her seventh year, and obtain her N.E.W.T.s.

Upon graduating, Kingsley Shacklebolt had insisted that she complete at least the basic Auror training course, regardless of her actual career intentions; with remnants of the Death Eaters still around, targeting those who had played a part in the downfall of Voldemort, he felt it necessary that she learn to defend herself from experts.

Alongside the Auror training, Hermione had also began the process of becoming a Healer. At first, her only motivation had been learning a few basic healing techniques for when her best friend inevitably got himself into trouble again. She hadn't realized that learning to heal, to mend, would be such a breath of fresh air after seeing the death, devastation, and horrors of war. Investing her mind, heart, and magic into helping people and healing them made her feel good in a way that she hadn't felt in a long time.

Hermione had always wanted to do something worthwhile in life, and she'd begun to think that Healing was the occupation where she could accomplish that – that it was what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

But then, she'd received an offer she couldn't bring herself to pass up – a position as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries.

At first, she'd been reluctant to return there after the events that had transpired in her fifth year, but her curiosity and love of knowledge eventually won out. Since all the Time Turners had been destroyed during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, and many of the Unspeakables who worked in the Time Chamber had been killed during the War, the DoM was in need of brilliant minds more than ever – to build new Time Turners and, hopefully, advance the other projects involving Time. The Unspeakables in upper management had all agreed that one such mind would be Hermione Granger's. After all, she wasn't known as the brightest witch of her age for nothing – and, as a bonus, she already had past experience with the subject. And even though she had begun her career as an Unspeakable researching Time, she had also begun working in the Death Chamber. The Unspeakables were always somewhat understaffed in that particular area, given how naturally unsettling the subject matter was to most. Hermione, who had long since learned there were worse things than death, had picked up some of the slack – particularly in regards to examining the Veil.

For the past year, Hermione worked as an Unspeakable specializing in Time and Death. She loved her job and greatly enjoyed the constant mental challenge she was faced with in her work – and the fact that it, for once, didn't involve her or her friends in mortal peril.

Not only was her professional life flourishing, her personal life was too; her relationship with Ron was going wonderfully, and Harry was happy with Ginny.

All was well. But she had no idea what was coming . . .

* * *

 ** _October 15th 2001 – London, England_**

It was another gloomy day in London. It was drizzling and the clouds simply refused to part. Contrary to the weather, Hermione was in sunny spirits – in large part due to the new diamond ring on her left hand.

Last night she and Ron had gone out for dinner, and he'd proposed! The entire setup had been beautiful to behold; she never would have thought that he could be such a romantic! That was probably one of the reasons why she loved him so much – he was full of surprises.

They'd started dating right after the War, and had never looked back or elsewhere. They were always there for each other – on good days and bad. As expected with any couple, they disagreed and argued, but were able to make adjustments for one another and find compromise. They seemed to balance each other out; Hermione's sensitivity and maturity challenged Ron to grow up and strive to better himself, whereas Ron's sense of humour and lightheartedness provided much needed levity in Hermione's life, encouraging her to be more flexible and spontaneous.

And now they were engaged! Their parents would be thrilled.

Speaking of parents . . . Hermione was very happy – and very grateful – to have hers back in her life. A month after the War ended she'd been able to track them down in Australia and return their memories. They'd been very angry with her at first, but in the end had understood why she did it. So now they were back in England and in Hermione's life once again.

As for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, they had always treated Hermione as their own daughter – and, to be honest, had probably been expecting her to join the family for quite some time now. That said, the Weasley family was rapidly expanding. Bill and Fleur had had a daughter last year, named Victoire because she was born on the anniversary of the War's ending; Percy and Audrey had married last year and were now expecting a baby in a few months; Harry and Ginny had gotten engaged three months ago, and the preparations for their wedding were underway; Ron had mentioned that George was shopping for a ring, which meant that he would be getting engaged to Angelina soon . . .

Hermione was sitting in her office and pondering all of this, when a cacophony of rattling walls and faraway screams startled her back to reality. In the blink of an eye, she was out of her office, wand in hand, as she sprinted down the hallway in search of the disturbance. As she turned the corner, she came face to face with absolute chaos. The coloured flashes of flying spells filled the corridor. Many of her coworkers were on the floor and some looked still enough to be possible corpses. Her Healer training kicked in and she desperately wanted to run to them and help them, but logic held her back as she realized that she'd be a sitting duck until the immediate threat was taken care of.

There were three of them, she noted with growing horror. At least, three that she could see. All dressed in Death Eater robes and masks.

 _How did they get in here?_ she thought, alarmed and astonished.

But she didn't have any more time to ponder this question. A curse whizzed by, only an inch from her left ear, and exploded into the wall behind her. She forced herself to unfreeze from her momentary bout of panic and get moving. At the other end of the corridor she saw a group of Aurors, Harry and Ron included, firing jinxes and curses at the intruders.

She was relieved to see them, up until the moment someone grabbed her from behind and put a wand to her throat.

Harry's familiar voice shouted, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

The force of the spell threw Hermione and her attacker backwards through the wall that already had a gaping hole in it. She heard Harry and Ron shouting her name as she landed in the room on top of her attacker, her back on his chest. She quickly scrambled to her feet and pointed her wand at him, but it was unnecessary – he'd hit his head on one of the broken pieces of the wall and fallen unconscious. Just in case, she cast a full body bind on the Death Eater (whose face was unfamiliar to her) and noted that his wand was gone. It had probably flown out of his hand when Harry cast the disarming spell on him.

Hermione turned to let Harry and Ron know that she was alright but then the wall exploded once more. Two Death Eaters came marching in, masks off. These ones, she knew: Yaxley and Dolohov. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the two, her face a mask of determination and her hands steady.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the _Mudblood_!" spat Yaxley. "Too bad we didn't kill you when we had a chance at the Malfoy Manor. Although, Bellatrix did a decent job in cutting you up. _Crucio_ was fun too, wasn't it? Would you like a reminder of how that feels, you filthy Mudblood?"

Curses began flying at her, so Hermione forced herself to keep her mind clear of that dreadful day. She was outnumbered, but her Auror training helped her hold her own.

 _I'll need to thank Kingsley for this later_ , she thought as she moved further into the room while dueling them.

As she stepped back, familiar chills began to creep up her spine, and she immediately realized which room they'd entered; it was the Death Chamber. She had an ominous feeling that this wasn't going to end well – and not only for the Death Eaters. And, despite a few wrong calls in school, nowadays her feelings on certain things were almost always correct.

As though the universe took her feeling of dread as an invitation, a curse caught her side a moment later. She nearly fell over, and the next curse might have finished her off had Harry and Ron not appeared on either side of her with shield charms at the ready.

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked, panting through the pain of the unknown curse.

"Sorry, 'Mione, there are at least fifteen of them in the corridor. We got here as soon as we could," said Ron, his free arm around Hermione's waist as he held the protective shield while Harry went on the offense.

"Fifteen?" Hermione managed to gasp out, still struggling to catch her breath.

"Yeah, I know . . ." muttered Ron darkly. "So much for them being all but gone."

He glanced over and finally noticed her pained grimace.

"Are you alright?" he asked with concern, worry written plainly in his features.

He gave Hermione a quick once-over, panic immediately appearing on his face as he caught sight of her right side.

"You're bleeding, Hermione!"

"I'll be fine, Ron. I can heal this easily," she said, moving her wand to do just that.

But before she could begin the spell, a third Death Eater barged into the room and threw a curse at Ron. Caught off guard, he was violently thrown backwards, collapsing bonelessly as he hit the stone floor, head first.

"Ron!" Hermione screamed, her eyes lingering on Ron's limp body for a fraction of a second before she whipped around to throw herself into a fight with her fiancé's attacker.

With a cleverly aimed spell, she split his mask to reveal his identity – it was Avery. He was already injured, so it was relatively easy for her to disarm, stun, and bind him. Hermione ran over to Ron and cast a quick diagnostic spell on him. She let out a sigh of relief when the spell didn't reveal any serious conditions.

Hermione reluctantly forced herself away from Ron, running to help Harry against the other two Death Eaters.

 _Where are the other Aurors? All these Death Eaters in the Ministry should garner a much quicker response than this!_ she thought in agitation as she fought Dolohov and Yaxley side by side with Harry.

As if in answer to her silent question, the still intact part of the wall exploded, and more fighting could be seen and heard in the corridor.

"Ron?" Harry managed to ask breathlessly between firing spells.

"He's alive . . . _Protego!_ . . Just unconscious," she responded hurriedly, taking a moment to block a horrifyingly familiar jet of purple fire from Dolohov.

It was as if her fifth year venture into this department was happening all over again.

"He's alive, but not for much longer," taunted Dolohov rather arrogantly, spinning his wand like a showman as though he wasn't in the middle of a duel, and ignoring Yaxley's frantic curses as he tried to cover for his colleague's idiocy. "He'll be next – right after we squish the two of you like the bugs you are!"

"We'll see about that," Harry said simply, not rising to the bait.

"You've gotten rather good, Potter," Yaxley snarked venomously. "There was a time when I could take you down with my pinky!"

"What, when I was a baby?" Harry said sarcastically. "But then, Voldemort apparently thought that too. Didn't work out so well for him, did it?"

"You filthy Half-blood! You dare mock him?!" Yaxley shouted in rage, and then continued angrily,"But no matter, you and your Mudblood friend won't walk away from this alive. The Dark Lord trained us well. Even if we die today, we're taking you with us."

Harry raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "Really? And how would dead men manage to do anything?"

Thankfully, unlike Dolohov and Yaxley, Harry continued firing non-verbal spells as he spoke so that Hermione didn't have to cover for him.

Dolohov laughed cruelly. "Oh, but Potter – don't you see? Our ranks have expanded. There are those who want to continue what the Dark Lord started. We've been recruiting right under your noses! Where do you think all of your precious Auror colleagues are right now? They're fighting the others who came here with us today! There are more of us than you thought. A _lot_ more."

"Well then," Harry said confidently, probably more confidently than he felt. "We'll just have to be more thorough this time – starting with you!"

Without further ado, Harry cast an _Expelliarmus_ at Yaxley, powerful enough to both disarm the man and blast him backwards. Harry wasted no time in casting a full body bind on his downed opponent, not wanting to give him the chance to get back up.

Meanwhile, Hermione was getting rather exhausted as she fought Dolohov. The wound on her side was not helping, the blood loss making her head dizzy and her movements sluggish. But she wasn't ready to give up just yet. She would muster up her Gryffindor bullheadedness and fight until the end, whatever that end might be.

She smiled weakly to herself when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Ron was stirring. The sounds of battle in the corridor were also starting to die down, and she could hear wonderfully familiar voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt barking out orders. The Death Eaters were being rounded up. Reinforcements were near, she knew it, but she dared not take her eyes off Dolohov. Seeing Harry take down Yaxley gave her a bit of a second wind, knowing it was now two on one in their favour.

Everything seemed to be looking up.

Then, the still-present chills down her spine seemed to worsen, and she had the horrible realization that the fighting had moved them all much too close to the Veil. Her heart sank, but even as she tried to steer at least Harry and herself farther away, spellfire kept them on the undesirable path. Instead, she focused on overpowering Dolohov, with Harry chaining curses and Hermione focusing on defense, in hopes of wrapping things up quickly.

Then it happened.

It all occurred so fast that no one could have done anything, even as Kingsley burst into the chamber with a few Aurors in tow, and Ron clambered to his feet with his wand at the ready. Dolohov had realized that he had no chance of winning. In a final act of desperation, he threw an acid green light at Harry and Hermione; it was immediately evident how powerful the newest curse was. With his famously quick reflexes, Harry conjured up a second shield to layer with Hermione's – but the spell was strong enough to rip through one, and collide with the next. The force of it was enough to throw the two of them backwards.

White light enveloped Harry and Hermione as they fell through the archway of the Veil.

* * *

 _ **Stardate 2258.42 - U.S.S. Enterprise, Starbase 1 spacedock**_

"Ladies and gentlemen, the maiden voyage of our newest flagship deserves more pomp and circumstance than we can afford today." The authoritative voice of Christopher Pike was loud and clear as he walked across the Bridge towards the captain's chair. "Her christening will just have to be our reward for a safe return. Carry on."

He took his seat, pushing a button on its arm to open the ship's intercom. "All decks, this is Captain Pike. Prepare for immediate departure. Helm, thrusters."

"Moorings retracted, Captain," reported the helmsman. "Dock control reports ready. Thrusters fired. Separating from spacedock."

The ship's nacelles roared to life and purred with a low, potent drone. The other ships of the fleet could be seen through the view screen also separating from the spacedock.

"The fleet's cleared spacedock, Captain. All ships ready for warp," the helmsman continued to report.

"Set course for Vulcan."

"Aye-aye, Captain. Course laid in."

"Maximum warp," commanded Pike, turning towards the helmsman. "Punch it."

The helmsman wrapped his fingers around the shiny, never-before-been-used lever and slowly pushed it forwards. The other spaceships began to blast off around them, leaving nothing but a streak of pale blue light behind. But the _Enterprise_ didn't move. A tense silence settled on the Bridge, the crew exchanging uncertain and confused looks.

"Lieutenant," said Pike, trying not to show his disapproval. "Where is Helmsman McKenna?"

"He has lungworms, sir. He couldn't report to his post," said the young helmsman, attempting to remain calm as he tried to figure out what went wrong.

He turned towards the Captain and respectfully said, "I'm Hikaru Sulu."

"And you're a pilot, right?" said Pike, trying – and somewhat failing – to hide his sarcasm.

"Very much so, sir," assured Sulu with a smile as he continued checking the control panel and his screen for any indication of a problem. "I'm not sure what's wrong here."

"Is the parking brake on?" Pike was not even trying to hide his sarcasm now.

"Um . . . No, I'll figure it out. I'm just –"

"Have you disengaged the external inertial dampener?" First Officer Spock suggested from his seat at the science station.

Understanding dawned on Sulu's face as he quickly solved the problem.

"Ready for warp, sir," he reported a moment later.

"Let's punch it."

As Sulu 'punched it', a blinding white light filled the Bridge, making everyone squint. As the light disappeared, and the crew's vision cleared, they saw two figures on the Bridge's floor, right in front of the view screen – a young man with a mop of jet-black hair, bent over the unconscious form of a young brunette woman.

"Hermione!" the man sounded frantic. "Hermione, please! Please, don't be dead!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Beta Love: _**Scarlet Dewdrops**_ , **_Insanity-Red._**

* * *

Chapter 2

"Hermione!" The man kept repeating her name and pleading with her to wake up. "Please, Hermione, open your eyes. I can't heal this wound. You have to do this – please!"

With every passing second, he became more and more desperate. The woman – Hermione – looked injured, and her face was deathly pale. From his seated position Christopher Pike couldn't see much of the woman; her body was mostly obscured by the distressed young man who had his forehead on Hermione's sternum, messy black hair obscuring his face.

Captain Pike kept his confusion and shock hidden. It was his responsibility to keep the crew calm and working smoothly, after all. Nevertheless, he was an honourable and kind man, so it was natural for him to take pity on the frantic newcomer who was clearly distressed and in need of help – even given the questionable fashion of their appearance on the _Enterprise_.

He leaned to the side a bit and pressed a button on the arm of his command chair. "Dr. Puri, come in!"

" _Puri here!"_ sounded a voice over the intercom.

"Doctor, report to the Bridge immediately. Bring your medical kit. We have an emergency here."

If the doctor was curious as to what kind of emergency there could possibly be on a ship that had just barely taken off, he didn't indicate it.

" _Aye, Captain! On my way, sir."_

"Pike out."

The young man, as if he had just realized that he was not alone, turned around and slowly stood up, eyes flicking around the room. Though he appeared shocked at his surroundings, it didn't seem to hamper his assessment of the situation – the result of some sort of law enforcement or military training, perhaps.

He looked to be in his early twenties, maybe even younger. His jet-black hair looked even messier from the front. His pale, tear-streaked face had a few scrapes and bruises, and was crowned by a strange scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. Startlingly bright green eyes looked out from behind his antiquated glasses, which were cracked and sitting askew on the bridge of his nose. He was wearing an odd burgundy coloured robe that had a badge on the left side of his chest boasting the letters 'DMLE', a button down dress shirt of the same colour and black pants underneath, all of which were torn or slashed in various places. His hands, which were covered in blood, were visibly shaking. A strange-looking stick was firmly gripped in his right hand, as if it was some sort of weapon or defense mechanism.

Overall, the entire scene looked so bizarre that Pike half thought that the strangers had been beamed up to the _Enterprise_ from some sort of Halloween party that had ended in a fight.

"Mr. Sulu, did you accidentally beam them up?" Pike demanded impatiently, standing up from his chair and walking towards the newcomers.

"No, sir, I did no such thing. All I did was follow your orders for takeoff," responded the helmsman respectfully, though a slight tone of defensiveness could be detected.

"Captain, considering the fact that we know nothing about these people, I would recommend that you keep a safe distance –" Spock cautioned as he stood up from his seat and walked forward to stand next to his captain.

Pike silenced him with a gesture.

Taking note of the defensive posture of the newcomer, Pike put his hands up in the universal motion of non-hostility and told the nervous young man, "We aren't going to attack you, if that's what you're expecting. I already sent for a doctor, he'll be arriving shortly to help your companion."

Harry, feeling disoriented and at a loss over his new location and the method of his arrival, did his best to focus on one thing and one thing only – saving Hermione. Out of all the things these people were talking about, one word in particular caught his attention – doctor.

"I doubt he'll be able to do anything for her," Harry said dejectedly, his voice thick with emotion, as he dismissed the others in the room and knelt down beside Hermione again.

 _Definitely a British accent,_ Pike noted to himself _._

Now that he was closer, he could see a rather deep cut on the young woman's right side that was bleeding profusely. She appeared to be around the same age as the young man and was dressed in a grey pantsuit with a white button-down blouse. Her clothes were soaked with blood, though he noticed the jacket had three letters embroidered on the left side, right above the heart: 'DoM.'

 _What's with these letters on their clothes? The acronyms don't ring a bell,_ Christopher thought, watching as the young man stripped off his robe to press it against Hermione's wound.

"Dr. Puri is one of the best doctors in Starfleet –" started Spock, but was interrupted by the hissing sound of the doors of the turbolift opening.

Out came Dr. Puri, looking slightly breathless, carrying his medical kit.

"Where is the emergency?" he asked right away.

Spock merely gestured to the woman on the floor by the view screen, and the doctor made a beeline for her. He looked at her and then at the young man, instinctively turning to look at the Captain with a raised eyebrow – but then thought better of wasting time with any irrelevant questions. He knelt on the other side of Hermione, pulled out his medical tricorder, and began to scan her.

Without looking up from the device, he addressed the young man, "What's your name, son?"

"Harry Potter," Harry answered, his gaze flicking warily between the doctor and his tools. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out what's wrong with her," the doctor replied, his gaze glued to the tricorder's output.

The doctor was an older man in his late forties with graying, dark brown hair and kind hazel eyes. He wore a blue shirt, black trousers, and black boots – a uniform, judging by the similar attire of the others in the exceedingly strange room. The doctor was old enough to be Harry's father, but that didn't make him any less surprised that a strange man would call him a 'son.' Moreover, he didn't recognize any of the devices that the doctor was using. Having lived with Muggles until the age of eleven, Harry had thought that he was aware of most Muggle contraptions – either via seeing them in person or on television, or even reading a description in a book. He filed his observations away for later consideration because right now, his best friend was in need of assistance.

The machine was making random bleeps, and the man was looking at a handheld display, but what Harry cared about right now was rousing Hermione to consciousness – perhaps the doctor had a method that might work. "Doctor, could you help me wake her up, please?"

"Wake her up?" echoed Puri somewhat disbelievingly. "We don't need to do that, son. I can treat her while she's unconscious."

After a moment of fumbling in his medkit, he pulled out a syringe-type object and leaned back down towards Hermione with it.

"Hang on! What's that?" demanded Harry, grabbing hold of the doctor's wrist.

"Never seen a hypo before?" Puri asked in disbelief, lightly tugging back his arm to test the firmness of Harry's grip. "Have you been living under a rock, son?"

 _Something like that,_ thought Harry, and asked, "What does it do?"

"A hypospray is a medical device used to inject medication into a patient's body. I'm trying to give her the coagulation activator in order to stop, or at least slow the bleeding," the doctor explained patiently.

Harry reluctantly let go of the doctor's hand. Puri didn't waste any time bringing the hypo to Hermione's neck and gently pressing it against her skin.

Puri took up his tricorder again and ran another scan, expecting to see the data reflecting the usual results of treatment. Not so. His brows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't understand. This should have worked immediately. Tell me, Harry Potter, how did your companion get that wound?" inquired Dr. Puri as he lifted up Harry's robe, which was now soaked in blood, to take a more careful look at the injury. "Looks like it could be from a knife, but something tells me it wasn't. Am I right?"

Harry hesitated for a moment as he considered his options. He was obviously in the presence of Muggles who didn't know anything about magic. He knew he should have lied, told the doctor it really was a knife . . . But Harry Potter was not a good liar. Everyone always knew when he was lying. And on top of that, the doctor was already skeptical. Harry highly doubted he would be able to convince him.

No, there was no point in lying. Everyone in the magical world knew all too well that curse wounds could only be healed by magic. It was why St. Mungo's existed in the first place . . .

"So?" prompted Puri at Harry's continued silence. "I need more information so that I can help her more efficiently."

Puri took one more look at his tricorder, standing abruptly in his frustration. "If something isn't done about this soon, we will lose her," he told Harry impatiently. "I need to take her to the Medbay."

Harry's expression changed to the one of panic, as he leapt to his feet and exclaimed, "Wait! You can't! You won't be able to help her!"

Seeing the affronted look on the doctor's face, Harry summoned up all the courage and professionalism he could muster at the moment.

"Look, I don't mean to question your abilities as a doctor," he told the man respectfully, but firmly. "And I appreciate your willingness to help, sir, but you really don't know anything about us. You wouldn't believe me even if I told you, so I think it would be best if you could just help me wake her up. Please."

"And what good would waking her up do, if we can't stop the bleeding?" said the doctor dryly.

Harry ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Because she _can_ stop the bleeding! She's the only one around who can heal that wound!"

Spock noted the use of the word 'heal' instead of 'treat' or 'cure' and interjected skeptically, "Heal it? Are you suggesting that she is a healer?"

Harry only offered a nod in response.

"Don't you mean 'a doctor'? She definitely looks human to me, and we humans refer to people who practice medicine as doctors – not healers," said Dr. Puri, sounding a mix of annoyed, sarcastic, and insulted.

"Doctor . . . healer . . ." Harry repeated in a daze, thinking about something.

His face cleared, as if a lightbulb had suddenly lit up in his foggy brain. He clapped himself on the forehead and exclaimed, "Of course! I am such an idiot!"

The next second, he was on his knees again, grabbing his wand and pointing it at Hermione's face. She hadn't exactly been stunned into unconsciousness, but it was worth a shot.

 _"Rennervate,"_ he murmured hopefully.

The woman immediately began to stir. A few moments later, her eyes opened slightly, only for them to slam shut again as she gave a pained wince.

"Hermione?"

"Har-ry?" she managed to weakly eke out the two syllables.

"Yes! Yes, it's me." He let out a short, relieved sigh and smiled worriedly.

His face became serious again.

"Hermione, I need you to heal that wound that you have on your side," he said gravely, his voice only growing in volume and panic as he continued. "I didn't see what you were hit with, you know I'm pants at diagnostics, and you won't stop bleeding. I need you to fix yourself! I can't lose you, Hermione!"

The Captain and doctor just looked at each other with a shared mental shrug, and Spock lifted an eyebrow at this strange exchange.

Hermione squinted open her eyes once more, batting an absent hand at her friend. "It's so bright in here, Harry. Are we at Mungo's?"

"What?" Harry thought dumbly that he might not have heard her correctly.

"She's delirious! She's lost too much blood!" The doctor felt compelled to offer his opinion, also kneeling down beside the young woman.

"Harry . . . my locket . . ." Hermione didn't seem to hear the doctor.

"What? Why?" Harry said in disbelief.

Why on Earth would she need her locket, when she was bleeding to death?

"My locket, Harry . . . Open it," she insisted, managing to slide in a bit of her exasperated 'you didn't do your homework again, did you?' tone.

Harry complied, carefully pulling the locket from underneath her blouse by its chain. He recognized it as the same locket that Ron had given Hermione on her twentieth birthday – golden and shaped like a heart, with a single ruby embedded on the center.

"Okay. It's open."

Inside was a picture of Ron, smiling and blowing a kiss – on the other side, a shot of the happy couple embracing each other and waving at him. Ron and Hermione were both positively glowing in that picture. He didn't know when exactly it was taken, but he assumed it was a couple of years ago, probably just after Hermione graduated from Hogwarts.

Then his eyes fell on another object inside the locket. It looked like a miniature version of the famous beaded bag that had been Hermione's constant companion during the Horcrux hunt. He thought she'd retired that thing ages ago.

"The bag . . . Enlarge it." Her eyes were drooping but she managed to keep herself awake.

Harry did as he was told, and waited for further instructions.

"Get . . . Dittany and . . . the Blood replenishing . . . potion," she instructed with difficulty.

Harry waved his wand at the opening of the bag, muttered a Summoning Charm, and caught the two tiny bottles that came flying out. He quickly unstoppered the dittany, applying a few drops directly to the wound, and then helped Hermione to drink the replenisher.

The doctor's eyebrows arched high in surprise as the skin around the wound started knitting together with a sizzle and hiss.

The rest of the Bridge crew watched in silence, all attempting to figure out what was happening – one theory was that some sort of hallucinogen had been released. Little else made sense. No one wanted to admit it, but everyone's attention was focused on spotting any further strangeness from the newcomers, rather than on their actual work.

The next thing that happened was even more mind-boggling. Hermione pulled out a strange stick of her own and, without opening her eyes, traced it over her wound, whispering something over and over. It sounded almost like some sort of song in Latin, but no one could quite catch the words.

Spock, with his superior hearing, was the only one able to hear them clearly, and even understood what they were hypothetically meant to be. He simply couldn't believe that a wound could be healed with a few words – pseudo-Latin, at that – and a wave of a stick. It was _not_ _logical_.

Regardless of logic, the results were immediate. The blood flow slowed even more, and then stopped altogether. Spock blinked in confusion – the wound now appeared to be several days old, new skin stretched over what had been open flesh.

One more wave of her stick, and her torso had a neat row of bandages covering the sight of her nearly-gone wound.

Hermione reached for Harry's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you, Harry. I'll be fine now. I still need a couple of days to fully recover, but in the end, there won't even be a scar left," she reassured him with a smile.

Harry, speechless from leftover worry and sudden relief, merely nodded.

"What the hell?" Dr. Puri murmured, pulling out his tricorder to scan Hermione once more.

What he found was unbelievable.

He couldn't stop himself from voicing his question, "How did you do that? Your vitals are stabilizing! Well, other than the blood pressure – it's a bit high. Is this your first time off-planet? That could be the cause. But more importantly, tell me how you did this. I've been a doctor for over twenty years, but I've never seen anything like it!" he rambled excitedly.

Hermione's eyes popped open at the onslaught of questions, and she rigidly sat up. She took in their new surroundings for the first time, eyes wide and wary.

"Harry! You should have told me there were Muggles around!" she chastised him.

Harry was somewhat agitated. Of course, working at the DMLE, he knew better than anyone about the Statute of Secrecy. However, when it came to his best friend's life, he couldn't care less about the law. In a worst-case scenario, they could always send a team to Obliviate the Muggles. The Statute of Secrecy had clauses for life-saving use of magic, after all.

"You know what, Hermione? You wouldn't stop bleeding, and I didn't want you to die," Harry retorted stubbornly. "I'm not going to apologize for prioritizing your life!"

She sighed, and leaned tiredly against her friend. "Of course, Harry, I'm sorry. I would do the same for you. I'm sorry."

Harry gave her a tight hug, careful to keep his arms around her shoulders to prevent irritation to her injury.

"I thought I was going to lose you!" His voice was slightly shaky, relief and a mixture of conflicting emotions evident in it.

"It's okay, Harry, I'm here," she said, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

She then took another glance around her and said, "By the way, where exactly is 'here', Harry?"

"Um . . . I really haven't got a clue," said Harry letting go of Hermione and looking around as well, this time looking for more than just potential threats.

"You are on board the starship _Enterprise_. I'm Christopher Pike, its Captain. This is my First Officer, Commander Spock," supplied Pike.

"Starship? Like, for space travel?" asked Harry in disbelief.

Pike nodded.

"You mean, we're in _space_?"

"That's what 'off-planet' means, son," said Puri, now waving his tricorder in Harry's direction. "Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, too. Like I mentioned earlier, it's completely normal if this is your first time in space. Nothing to worry about."

"Dr. Puri, you may return to the Medbay," Pike said. "Thank you for your assistance."

"But Captain," Puri protested, "I haven't gotten the chance to really do anything. And I'd like to know –"

"Later," Pike cut him off. "I'd like to talk to them first."

Needless to say, Pike was very puzzled by Harry and Hermione's sudden appearance and everything that had followed – but he didn't sense any danger from them. His gut feelings had proven accurate more times than not over the course of his career, so he decided to give them a chance to explain themselves.

"All right. But you must send them to the Medbay for a full examination. Everyone on board this ship has to have one. Otherwise, they don't have clearance from me to be here." The doctor proudly puffed up his chest at that.

With a tolerantly amused quirk of the lips, Pike replied solemnly, "Understood, doctor."

With that, Dr. Puri collected his things and left.

Harry and Hermione were only vaguely paying attention to the exchange between the captain and the doctor, because their attention had been captured by the view screen's display. What they saw there was downright frightening. They really were in space, judging by the stars that they saw churning past with an incredible speed.

 _This isn't real. It can't be. This is just one horrible dream. We need to wake up,_ they thought.

"How?" asked Harry quietly, letting out a shaky breath. "Apparition is out of question for this sort of distance. So is a Portkey."

"Oh, Harry!" said Hermione, remembering something crucial. "The Veil! We went through . . ."

She started frantically touching Harry's shoulders and head, as if reassuring herself that he was real. "Harry, are we – are we dead?"

Captain Pike cleared his throat and told them, "I assure you, you're very much alive."

Harry helped Hermione stand up and put an arm around her for support, carefully avoiding putting pressure on her healing wound. They were looking at each other, eyes wide.

Panic mounting, Hermione collected herself as best as she could. She took a deep, calming breath, and asked, as if she didn't really want to know the answer, "W-what . . . what is the current year?"

Spock arched one eyebrow at the odd question and stated in a monotonous voice, like a machine, "The current Stardate is 2258.42."

"Stardate?" Harry said incredulously.

Spock nodded.

"What's a 'stardate'? I don't understand. What's the current year?" Harry repeated, fear evident in his voice.

"If you are inquiring about the date in Earth time, then today would be February 11th, 2258."

If Harry wasn't holding Hermione up, he might have staggered back.

"What? Is this a bloody joke?"

"No, it is not," Spock responded flatly.

"Bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed, rubbing his face with one hand.

Hermione's gears were going at full speed, but she couldn't think of anything to explain the phenomenon.

"That's – that's impossible," she said quietly, swaying on her feet.

Harry held her tighter to make sure that she didn't fall over.

"It can't be possible. Harry, tell me this is a dream. Tell me that I'm imagining this, please!"

"I can't, Hermione."

"Can either of you explain what the hell is going on here?" demanded Pike.

"Trust me, Captain Pike, we'd love to know that ourselves," responded Harry, trying hard not to freak out.

"Alright, then. Let's start with something easy," Pike told them, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing in front of them. "Your names are Harry Potter and Hermione . . ."

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger," she supplied.

 _Breathe, just breathe. There's got to be a good, logical explanation to this situation_ , she told herself.

"Okay then, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Do you have any idea how you came to be aboard this ship?"

"None, sir," said Harry.

"Okay. Let's try a different question. Who are you? Or rather, what are you? You look human, but you seem to possess the powers that we don't. You use words in your speech that I have never heard of. Your clothing is strange. And what are those sticks that you are holding? What planet are you from?"

Okay, that was more than one question, but he couldn't stop himself from voicing the rest, especially since they seemed relevant.

"What? What do you mean by 'what planet'? Earth, of course," Harry was getting defensive. "We look human, you said so yourself. What other planet would we be from?"

"Simply because you look human, does not mean that you are. There are many humanoid species in the universe with only slight aesthetic differences," said Spock, who was standing slightly behind the Captain.

For the first time, Harry and Hermione took a closer look at the First Officer and noticed his pointy ears and arched eyebrows. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth. Harry's mouth fell open.

"Judging by your reaction, am I correct to assume that neither of you have seen a Vulcan before?" asked Spock.

They both just shook their heads and remained silent.

This was real. Aliens were real. They really were in the future, with Muggles travelling in space on starships.

It still didn't answer the question of _how_ they'd gotten there, though. And why in _space_?

"Well, are you going to answer any of my questions or not? Do I need to repeat them?" demanded Pike, when the silence continued.

"No, sir," Harry seemed to find his voice. "You don't need to repeat them. We'll answer your questions, but you won't believe us."

"Try me."

Well, if there were aliens and starships in the future, maybe they knew about the magical world too.

Hermione took a deep breath and said, "Harry is a wizard, and I am a witch."

Dead silence settled again on the Bridge. Spock arched one eyebrow. Then the Captain burst out laughing.

"You expect me to believe that?" asked Pike. "I don't know what you kids are thinking! You may have some strange healing abilities – but that doesn't equal magic. Is this a prank? Did someone dare you to beam on board of the fleet's newest flagship? Because I can tell you right now, we are in an emergency situation. The delay is not appreciated!"

Okay, the Muggles _didn't_ know about the Wizarding world in the future.

Hermione determinedly looked at Harry and asked, "May I?"

"Go ahead," he confirmed with a wave of his hand.

Given the current circumstances, the Statute of Secrecy be damned. Their magic had already been seen by these Muggles, so it wasn't as if things could get much worse – and honestly, getting healed up and back to Earth was their top priority at the moment. If Harry and Hermione didn't manage to convince these Muggles of their truthfulness, they just might end up in a mental institution of sorts – if they weren't simply arrested for trespassing. Most likely without their wands . . .

"What are you –?" started Pike.

At the same time, Hermione pointed her wand at Harry's glasses and said loudly and clearly, _"Oculus Reparo!"_

The cracked glasses mended themselves in an instant.

She then waved her wand at herself and said, " _Tergeo,_ " and all the blood soaked into her clothes was siphoned away, leaving her clean, though still somewhat disheveled. She did the same to Harry and his robe.

 _"Accio robe!"_ Now Harry's robe flew right into Hermione's hands.

" _Evanesco,_ " and the blood that stained the floor vanished.

"Still think we're lying? Or that we're . . . impaired? Or whatever it is that you thought?" Hermione said proudly, handing Harry his robe back. "Would you like more proof?"

"Keptin Pike, Keptin Pike!"

"What is it, Ensign?"

"Sir, I haff deetected some form of a magnetic field on ze Bridge, but now it's gone," said a young man with sandy brown curls in a yellow shirt with a heavy accent. "It happened earlier as well. I am suzpecting zat it haz to do wiz . . . wiz Miss Hermione and Meester Harry using zouze . . . zouze steecks."

"They're called wands," Harry supplied helpfully with amusement. "And that's not surprising, I suppose, considering the way electronics reacts around magic."

"There isn't a chance for a detrimental effect on our equipment, is there?" asked Pike, slight worry in his voice.

"No! No, sir," Hermione hurried to reassure the Captain. "Nothing like that. Only strong magic, like the type around our school, could make things go haywire. But that would require at least a dozen of witches and wizards casting powerful spells simultaneously and then refortifying them every now and again. One witch or wizard casting even most powerful of spells won't break your equipment, but might cause some interference. Mind you, if those powerful spells were to be cast over and over, then there might be some problems," she finished sheepishly.

"How strong was the magnetic field, Ensign?" Spock addressed the young man with the accent.

"Not strong, Commander. But I vas able to deetect it," he answered proudly.

"What's your name again? Chanko, Cherpov?" Captain asked.

"Chekov, sir. Chekov, Pavel Andreievich," he answered happily.

"Well, Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, keep an eye on that field for me, will you?"

"Yes, sir, happy to!"

"Well," the Captain addressed Harry and Hermione. "Now that we have established that you are . . . " – he seemed reluctant to actually use the terms – "a wizard and a witch, can we figure out how you got here?"

"I really haven't got the foggiest," said Harry, running his hands through his hair, making it even messier.

He mustered as much calmness as he could and explained, the sadness in his voice unmistakable, "There was a war that ended three years ago. Well, three years ago for us. Our side won the war, but some of the enemy's followers remained, wanting revenge. They somehow broke into our place of work at the Ministry of Magic and attacked us. Hermione and I were thrown through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, and ended up here."

Harry could see the blank stares, which was understandable. They probably thought he was completely barmy.

"A war?" asked Spock, arching an eyebrow once more. "The Eugenics War?"

"What? No, it was the Second Wizarding War."

"I am not aware of such a war occurring in Earth's history," Spock stated in his usual, straight-forward manner.

"Of course not," Hermione confirmed with a slight shake of her head. "The Wizarding World is concealed from the Muggle one. You wouldn't know anything about it."

"Muggle?" Pike voiced his question.

"Yes, it means non-magical." Hermione supplied the information factually and somewhat automatically, reminding a few of the crew of how Spock iterated facts as if everyone should know them already.

Pike raised an eyebrow and slowly asked, skepticism registering in his tone, "And you are saying you're from the past?"

"Yes, from the year 2001, to be exact," confirmed Hermione.

Harry interjected after doing an easy bit of calculating, "Hermione, that's 257 years! How did we get here? Did you have a Time-turner on you?"

"Yes, Harry, I know how long the gap is," she replied with a sigh. "And no, I didn't have a Time-turner. And even if I did – which would be an impossible feat by itself, given the fact that the only currently semi-functioning prototype of a Time-turner is securely locked up in the Time Chamber under dozens of different powerful protective enchantments . . . Merlin, I wasn't supposed to tell you that!" she gasped in pain, suddenly grabbing hold of her head.

Harry looked concerned and was about to say something, when Hermione cut him off, continuing to speak, though her voice was definitely more strained than before, "Anyway, even if I had a Time-turner, Harry, you can't use one to go to the future, let alone this far into the future! And then there's the fact that we went through the Veil in the Death Chamber. By all rights, we should be dead. Instead we're here, supposedly 257 years in the future!"

She halted, grimacing in pain from her sudden headache, and gasping for air because she'd spoken for so long with little breathing.

"Are you alright?" asked Harry with concern.

"Fine, fine. Just a headache."

She certainly didn't look fine, but waved off his concern, adding, "And then, as if that wasn't enough, there's also the fact that we were in _London_ , and somehow ended up in _space_ , of all places. It just . . . none of this makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Harry, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "It's _completely_ mental."

Hermione nodded in agreement, just enough to not make her headache worse. "Completely."

There was a moment of silence where everyone stared at Harry and Hermione – who suddenly found the floor very interesting – as if they had just grown two extra heads.

The Captain cleared his throat and spoke, "All right. This is getting more and more unbelievable by the minute. Witches and wizards? Ministry of Magic? Time-turners? Death Chamber? I think for now we'll have you escorted to the Medbay and get you properly examined by Dr. Puri. Maybe you have a head injury – seems likely enough, considering that headache of yours . . ."

"You don't believe us." It was a statement, not a question, and Harry sighed with resignation.

"Of course he doesn't believe us. I mean, they're all Muggles," Hermione scoffed, gesturing around the Bridge. "They've never dealt with this kind of thing before. They don't understand half of the terms that we're using."

She looked to Pike, who simply nodded in agreement.

"We must sound completely and utterly mental. . ." she trailed off.

Then, as if realizing something, she started walking towards Pike with determination and stopped two feet in front of him.

"I can prove that we're not crazy. I can prove that everything we've said is true – if you'll allow me."

"And how might you do that?" asked Pike skeptically, folding his arms on his chest.

"Reverse Legilimency."

Harry looked horrified as he exclaimed, "Hermione, no! You don't know him! You can't just let him into your mind like that!" He strode up to stand next to her, placing his hand on her shoulder as if to guide her back away from the Captain.

She shrugged him off. "Trust me, Harry, this is for the best. I know what I'm doing."

"Care to explain?" asked Pike.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked the Captain right in the eyes. He couldn't help but notice that she had very beautiful brown eyes – full of intelligence and pleading. Pleading with him to give them a chance.

Hermione explained, "Legilimency is the art of, for the lack of a better term, 'mind-reading.' It's more complex than that though. However, I will not be reading your mind. Rather the opposite, really. I assure you that your mind will be perfectly safe and untouched. I will simply show you some of my memories, so that you can see for yourself that we aren't lying or inventing things."

"How do I know you won't somehow invade my mind if we do this?" Pike asked skeptically.

"You don't. I guess you'll just have to take my word for it."

Hermione sighed.

"Look, I understand your reluctance. If I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn't let some stranger who appeared out of nowhere claiming to possess magical abilities _anywhere_ sensitive, let alone into my head. And under normal circumstances I wouldn't even consider doing something like this – at all. But this isn't a normal circumstance. You said earlier that you are in an emergency situation of sorts, which means you likely don't have much time to be dealing with us right now. This is the quickest way I can think of at the moment to gain understanding between us . . . even if I might end up regretting it later . . ." she finished quietly.

Pike studied the young woman in front of him, gazing intently into her eyes. His gut feeling told him that he wasn't in any danger from her, that she was telling the truth. He was also very intrigued by the two newcomers and wanted to know more about them and their abilities. After all, one of Starfleet's missions was to explore strange new worlds and discover new civilizations.

Pike nodded, his mind now made up. "Alright."

"Captain," Spock interjected, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "I would strongly recommend against this. She may be manipulating you in order to obtain vital information about Starfleet or the _Enterprise_ , or –"

Pike cut him off by putting up a hand. "Don't you have work to do?" he said to his First Officer.

Pike turned to address everyone else on the Bridge, all of which were disregarding their duties in favour of watching the drama unfold.

"Don't you _all_ have work to do?" he asked pointedly. "Mr. Chekov, please begin a ship-wide broadcast of our mission parameters."

"Aye, Keptin!" The young Russian followed orders immediately.

Pike turned back to Hermione and said, "Alright then, how is this going to work?"

Hermione gripped her wand in her left hand and walked up close to the Captain, carefully lifting her right hand to touch his cheek. Spock was strangely reminded of a Vulcan mind-meld. However, instead of placing her fingers over the bioelectrical focal points on Pike's face, Hermione placed hers in such a manner that it almost looked like a caress.

"You will need to keep eye contact with me, sir," she informed him quietly.

Pike gave a slight nod in understanding.

She whispered, _"Legilimens."_

The whole scene looked very intimate. Spock felt slightly uncomfortable and decided it was best to get back to the science station. Besides, once the Captain had decided something, there was little Spock could do to stop him.

Harry similarly gave up trying to stop his stubborn friend – who had apparently taken on some of his recklessness over the years. He turned away and walked towards the view screen again. He looked out at the rapidly passing stars, but didn't really see them. His thoughts drifted inevitably toward Ginny, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys, his godson Teddy, and all of his friends. A feeling of tightness emerged in his chest, and his eyes started burning.

 _We will figure this out, we will get back,_ he tried to reassure himself.

Meanwhile, Hermione began to show Pike some of her memories – largely focusing on those that would prove the existence of a wizarding culture and society. Images floated across her mind's eye, like snippets of a movie. First, glimpses of her childhood – incidents of accidental magic. Then she was an eleven-year-old, receiving her Hogwarts letter and getting a visit from Professor McGonagall, who explained that Hermione was a witch. Then she was walking down Diagon Alley, past witches and wizards dressed in robes and pointy hats, carrying objects that would seem odd to a Muggle – cauldrons, owls in their cages, some other funny shaped packages. Images of Hogwarts flashed through her mind, with its moving staircases, talking portraits, and the Great Hall with its enchanted ceiling.

She also thought it might be relevant to show him the events in the Death Chamber that had led up to her and her friend's strange relocation.

In hindsight, transferring such frantic, emotionally charged memories was a tremendous mistake. Hermione was hit by a deluge of similar memories, some of which she had desperately wanted to forget. Her hand began to tremble, and she quickly pulled it away from Pike's face, her now-watering eyes darting away from his.

Pike instinctively reached out and wiped a few tears from Hermione's cheeks. She hadn't even realized they had fallen.

"I believe you," he told her quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Pike gently took hold of her wrists, gave them a slight squeeze, and spoke a bit louder as Hermione looked up at him, "I can't say that I understood everything that I saw, but I believe you. And I will do everything I can to help the two of you to get back."

His eyes fell on Harry, who was walking back towards them.

"We will need to discuss everything I saw in more detail, so that I can better understand the situation and help you. But that will have to wait. Right now we are headed to Vulcan, Spock's home planet, on a rescue mission –"

He was interrupted as the doors to the Bridge hissed open, and three frantic people ran in.

"Captain Pike, sir, we have to stop this ship!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Beta Love: _**Scarlet Dewdrops**_ , **_Insanity-Red._**

* * *

Chapter 3

 ** _October 15th, 2001 - London, England_**

"NO!"

Ron ran towards the Veil as fast as his legs would carry him – until he collided bodily with Kingsley, the other man holding him back with a vice grip.

"LET ME GO!" Ron screamed desperately, tears running down his cheeks. " _Let me go!_ "

"Ron. Ron! They're gone, Ron. You can't do anything for them. No one can. They're beyond our reach now. If you go through that Veil, the only thing you'll achieve is your own death added to theirs."

The Minister's voice shook as he spoke, holding back tears of his own. He'd become very good friends with both Harry and Hermione over the years – practically a family. Even worse, he knew that their deaths would not only impact their loved ones, but the entire Wizarding World. The Golden Trio had become a beacon of hope in the post-war atmosphere of despair, leading by example as they helped rebuild their damaged world.

"MAYBE I DON'T CARE! My fiancée and best friend are gone! How am I supposed to live with _that_?" Ron shouted hoarsely.

"Fiancée?"

"I proposed yesterday," Ron muttered, his voice hitching.

He sank to the cold stone floor, his strangled sobs echoing in the sudden silence of the Death Chamber. Kingsley dropped to his knees as well, circling a steady arm around the redhead's shoulders – but he knew it wasn't enough. There would be no consoling the bereaved man any time soon.

Ron didn't know how long they sat there. He didn't care either, until one of the Aurors came up to deliver his report to the Minister. It was Septimus Herondale, the Head Auror.

"We apprehended all the Death Eaters, Minister Shacklebolt," he reported.

"Thank you, Herondale. How many were there?"

"Twenty three, sir."

"Twenty three?" the Minister asked in astonishment, standing up.

How they had been able to expand their ranks so much right under their noses was beyond him.

Herondale nodded.

"Take them all to Azkaban. There will be a hearing tomorrow. We need to find out if there are more of them. Make sure we have a sufficient amount of Veritaserum. After what they did here today, they'll be punished accordingly," the Minister finished in a severe tone.

He didn't have to say it, but it was understood what he meant – the Dementor's Kiss.

"Casualties?"

"Nine dead, forty two wounded, Minister."

"Is that including Harry and Hermione?" Kingsley glanced at Ron – but the redhead was looking down, not meeting his eyes.

"No, sir."

Kingsley scrubbed his hands over his face, noticing that they were trembling. He brought them down to his sides, clenching them into fists.

"Eleven dead, then," he said quietly. Somehow saying those words aloud still didn't make them seem real in his mind.

Ron scrambled to his feet and started walking out of the Death Chamber.

"Ron, wait!"

But Ron kept on walking.

"Auror Weasley!" shouted Kingsley, his tone becoming stern. "You have not been dismissed! Return immediately!"

The words had just as little effect as his first attempt, and seconds later, Ron was gone.

Kingsley turned to Herondale. "Bring him back. Stun him, if you have to. He can't be let go like this. He'll do something reckless or get himself killed, and Molly and Arthur have had enough death in the family."

"Yes, Minister." With that, the Head Auror left.

Kingsley took a deep breath, allowing it to escape him in a heavy sigh as he looked around. The attack had destroyed much of the area. Countless galleons' worth of research and experiments, all gone – but much more priceless were the lives that had been taken.

 _Haven't we all suffered enough at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters? Why is this still happening?_ Kingsley thought, wondering if the attack had happened – at least in part – due to some deficiency of his in his role as a Minister.

He gave his head a final shake and started walking out of the cursed Death Chamber. His work was never finished, it seemed. He needed to make his rounds throughout the Ministry and settle a few things, now that the attack had finished; then, he'd planned to personally escort Ron to the Burrow. He doubted the other man would want to return to the flat he shared – had shared – with Hermione. His heart clenched painfully at the thought of delivering the news to the Weasleys. But it had to be done, there was no way around it – and he certainly wasn't going to foist off the responsibility on someone else.

The Boy Who Lived and the Brightest Witch of Her Age were no more.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 - U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant_**

"Kirk, how the hell did you get on board the _Enterprise_?" Pike demanded, his demeanor irrevocably switching back to 'Captain Mode.'

He stared at the three who had just appeared on the Bridge – James T. Kirk, Dr. McCoy, and a woman in the red uniform – and let his hands drop from Hermione's as he took a firm step towards them.

 _What is it with all the stowaways on board of my ship today?_ he thought in annoyance.

"Captain, this man is under the influence of a severe reaction to a vaccine –" McCoy started hastily.

"Bones! Bones, please!" Kirk protested.

"He's completely delusional, and I take full responsibility –" continued the doctor, as if Kirk didn't even speak.

"Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster," Kirk spoke loudly to be heard over his friend, staring Pike directly in the eyes. "It's being attacked by Romulans."

"Romulans," Pike said flatly, his expression becoming hard. "Cadet Kirk, I think you've had enough attention for one day. McCoy, take him to medical. We'll have words later."

"Aye, Captain," said the doctor, trying to grab a hold of Kirk to escort him back to the Medbay.

"Look, sir, that same anomaly that we saw today –" Kirk continued desperately as he evaded his friend.

"Mr. Kirk is not cleared to be aboard this vessel, Captain," Spock stated, moving to stand beside Pike. "Starfleet Regulation 497 makes him a stowaway. I can remove Cadet Kirk –"

"Try it! This cadet is trying to save the Bridge!" Kirk yelled at Spock. Couldn't they just give him a minute to explain?

"By recommending a full stop mid-warp during a rescue mission?" Spock asked, completely unfazed by Kirk's outburst.

"It's not a rescue mission!" Kirk turned to address Pike again. "Listen to me – what you're walking into right now? It's an attack."

"Based on what facts?" Spock insisted.

Kirk stared him down defiantly as he began his explanation, "That same anomaly – a 'lightning storm in space' like we saw today – also occurred on the day of my birth, right before a Romulan ship attacked the _U.S.S. Kelvin_.

"You know that, sir," he added, glancing at the Captain. "I read your dissertation.

"That ship, which had formidable and advanced weaponry, was never seen or heard from again. The _Kelvin_ attack took place on the edge of Klingon space, and at 2300 hours last night, there was an attack: forty-seven Klingon warbirds destroyed by Romulans, sir, and it was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship."

"And you know of this Klingon attack how?" It seemed Pike was starting to believe him now.

Rather than answer, Kirk turned to look at the woman who had followed him and McCoy onto the Bridge.

"Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself. Kirk's report is accurate," she said.

"We are warping into a trap, sir," Kirk was urging Pike to believe him. "The Romulans are waiting for us, I promise you that."

"The cadet's logic is sound." Spock seemed satisfied with provided facts. "And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in Xenolinguistics. We would be wise to accept her conclusion."

That seemed to fully convince the Captain. He knew that Spock would not cede the point unless he had considered all the facts, possibilities, and outcomes. Pike, who had something of a soft spot for Kirk – and was consequently still somewhat disappointed with him over the _Kobayashi Maru_ incident – was glad to have Spock's unbiased judgement to rely on.

"Scan Vulcan space. Check for any transmissions in Romulan," Pike ordered.

"Sir, I'm not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan," admitted Chief Communications Officer Hawkins.

"What about you, do you speak Romulan, cadet . . . ?" Pike addressed the dark-skinned woman.

"Uhura. All three dialects, sir," she confirmed with no hint of a boast.

"Uhura, relieve the Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." She seemed rather honoured as she stepped to the communications terminal and started pressing buttons and flicking switches.

Harry shifted uncomfortably next to Hermione, the both of them having listened to the exchange with limited comprehension to the overabundance of foreign terms. They exchanged a look.

 _What did we get ourselves into this time?_

Kirk, relieved that Pike was taking him seriously, noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye. The two strangers stuck out like a sore thumb, since they weren't wearing the uniform.

"Hey, who are you two?" Kirk asked as he approached them.

"And you were lecturing _me_ about stowaways?" he said as an aside to Spock, his tone offended.

Harry tensed slightly, his hand drifting a small distance from his side in a habitual motion that indicated he was about to drop his wand from its arm holster. Hermione, as in tune with him as ever, quickly grasped at his wrist, silently urging him not to do anything rash.

"They're none of your concern, Kirk. They are here on my authority," stated Pike with a tone of finality.

Then he turned to address the officer in charge of monitoring inter-fleet communications. "Hannity, hail the _U.S.S. Truman._ "

"The other ships are out of warp, sir," reported the woman immediately. "They've arrived at Vulcan, but we seem to have lost all contact."

"Sir, I'm not picking up any Romulan transmissions," announced Uhura. "Or transmissions of any kind in the area," she added, concern and confusion colouring her voice.

"That's because they're being attacked," concluded Kirk, finally relinquishing his stare from Harry and Hermione in favour of turning towards Pike.

"Shields up, red alert," ordered the Captain, walking towards his chair.

The sudden blare of the alarm filled the ship, and everyone sprang into motion.

"I suggest you hold on to something," Pike addressed Harry and Hermione, nodding towards the rail as he walked past them. "Just in case."

Five seconds later, they dropped out of warp, and were immediately greeted with chaos and destruction. The ship shook violently as the pilot, following the Captain's orders, did his best to evade the debris and remnants of the other ships. Horrified but determined, the crew did their best to ignore the carnage and focus instead on not meeting the same fate. Rapid-fire reports and orders flew back and forth, and everyone held tightly to the nearest steady object as the ship dodged the worst of it.

And then they saw it.

A gargantuan monstrosity of a ship, if it could even be identified as such, floated onto the view screen. It looked like something out of a horror movie, with its ugly, barbed appendages – it was somewhat reminiscent of a squid, perhaps, that had been grotesquely mutated until it had more tentacles than it knew what to do with. On a ship, such a design spoke of not knowing when to quit; it reeked of excess, and ego.

"Captain, they are locking torpedoes!" Spock alerted Pike.

"Divert auxiliary power from port nacelles to forward shields," ordered the Captain.

Several torpedoes emerged from the viciously spiked shell of the enemy ship and darted towards the _Enterprise_. One of them found its mark, blasting a hole in the rear of the ship. The shockwave reverberated throughout the entire vessel.

"Sulu, status report," Pike demanded.

"Shields at 32%. Their weapons are more powerful than anything I've ever seen, sir. We can't take another hit like that!"

"Get me Starfleet Command."

Before Uhura could reply, Spock reported, "Captain, the Romulan ship has lowered some kind of high-energy pulse device into Vulcan's atmosphere. Its signal appears to be blocking our communications and transporter abilities."

"Captain, we are being hailed," Uhura announced a moment later.

"How are zey cutting through ze blanketing interference?" said Chekov, shaking his head as he stared at his instrumentation.

Pike ignored the comment. "On-screen," he ordered.

Uhura complied, and a second later an image of a heavily tattooed man with a cleanly shaven head and pointed ears appeared on the screen.

Despite the fact that this was obviously another alien, Harry and Hermione were strangely reminded of Voldemort – same bald head, same madness in the eyes, same arrogance and assuredness in his superiority, same murderous expression that said that this person would stop at absolutely nothing to achieve his goals.

"Hello," he said sardonically.

"This is Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking?" Pike's tone was ice cold.

"Hi, Christopher. I am Nero." Nero, on the other hand, sounded amused – almost bored.

"You've declared war against the Federation. Withdraw, and I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location –"

"I do not speak for the Empire," Nero interrupted in annoyance. "We stand apart."

Nero's glittering eyes scanned the crew of the Bridge, ghosting over them like they were irrelevant – until he spotted Spock.

"As does your Vulcan crew member. Is that not right, _Spock_?"

"Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted," Spock stated flatly as he rose from his seat to stand next to his Captain.

"No, we are not. Not yet," Nero spoke cryptically.

"Spock, there is something I would like you to see," the Romulan continued. "Captain Pike, your transporter has been disabled. As you can see by the rest of your armada, you have no choice. You will man a shuttle and come aboard the _Narada_ for negotiations. That is all."

And with that, the transmission was cut, leaving only the image of that monstrous ship on the view screen.

Every pair of eyes on the Bridge locked onto the Captain, awaiting his decision.

"He'll kill you, you know that," Kirk said, first to break the silence.

"Your survival is unlikely," agreed Spock, his tone suggesting that he had just calculated the statistical likelihood of the Captain's survival.

"Captain, I'd like your permission to accompany you," Harry spoke suddenly, attracting everyone's attention.

"Are you nuts?" Kirk asked incredulously. "Whoever you are . . ."

"Harry?" Hermione asked in confusion.

He wasn't honestly thinking of going, was he?

"Sir, I've been in a similar situation before," Harry addressed Pike.

 _Except Voldemort demanded that I show up to be killed, not for negotiations_ , he thought bitterly. But the Captain didn't need to know that.

"I understand that you have to go," Harry continued. "You really have no choice. And from what I've seen of you so far, I know that you won't let an entire ship full of people under your command get murdered by a raving lunatic. I'd like to help you."

Pike gave Harry a look. "Well, I can imagine abilities like yours coming in useful. But I'm not going to bring a civilian into a situation like this, regardless of your . . . magic."

Hermione inhaled deeply as she tried to think past her knee-jerk response. She nodded to herself. It made sense. That Nero person would surely kill the Captain – and right now he was the only person in this strange new place that believed them.

"Harry, your hero complex will get you killed one day," she said sternly, looking at her best friend.

He just shrugged, shooting her a sheepish smile as he mentally prepared himself for a lecture – though at least this time, even he acknowledged he was being somewhat reckless.

Instead, she turned to face the captain.

"Sir, if I may?" she said.

Pike nodded.

"Harry is one of the best Aurors."

Harry shot her a look, astonished that she'd apparently decided to enable his decision.

"Maybe even _the_ best. He's the one who defeated Voldemort – the dark wizard you saw in my memories."

Harry's face turned an adorable shade of red, and he hastily looked down.

"Going to that ship alone is a mistake. Men like that" – she pointed at the view screen – "do not negotiate. He wants something from you. And when he gets it, he'll kill you and then, most likely, everyone else on this ship. Harry is basically the equivalent of a police officer or military member in your world – and I know him better than anyone else. I guarantee he'll do everything in his power to keep you safe and bring that . . . Nero to justice."

Her eyes cut to her friend as she continued, "I also know that Harry can be reckless. Since I have an Auror training as well, and I really would like to make sure that he doesn't get himself killed, I'd like to come with you too."

"Who is this girl?" Jim asked quietly, so that only McCoy – who was standing next to him – could hear.

"I don't know, but I already like her," answered the doctor under his breath.

"No!" Harry argued immediately, his head snapping around as he gave his best friend a fierce glare. "Have you forgotten that you were just bleeding to death not an hour ago?!"

A moment later his expression softened, and he added more gently, "Please, you have to stay. I'll be able to focus more on the task if I don't have to think about your safety too."

Hermione gave Harry a long look. "Oh, very well, I'll stay here," she conceded, sighing in defeat.

She knew that going into a dangerous situation while being injured was not a good idea. It would be an easy way to get herself killed – and not only her, but Harry and Pike too.

"But you have to promise me you won't do anything stupid!" she added adamantly.

"I won't, I promise," Harry said, putting his right hand over his heart. "I know you're reluctant to separate like this, but you can't even safely Apparate until that wound of yours is fully healed."

"What the hell is Apparating?" asked Kirk, fed up with all the unexplained weirdness. "Who are these people?"

"Apparition is –" started Hermione.

Harry, aware of the urgency of the entire situation and eager to skip any long explanations, decided to hurry things up a bit. He turned on his heel, disappearing with a _pop_ and reappearing by the view screen. A few people jumped, some nearly fell off their seats.

Two seconds later, he disappeared again and reappeared back next to Hermione.

"Fascinating," was all Spock said, not betraying any emotion.

"Holy Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" exclaimed McCoy. "What the hell was _that_?"

"That's Apparition," said Harry. "I thought I'd save some time on the explanation, since we are somewhat in a hurry," he finished now looking at Pike.

"Agreed," confirmed Pike.

As much as he didn't want to risk Harry's life, he knew that these two newcomers had just made an excellent point of why Harry should come along – for his, his crew's, and quite possibly the entire Federation's sake. There was no telling what Nero would do. He had to be stopped. If Harry could help – and Pike knew that he could, after looking into Hermione's memories – then the Captain would take him up on his offer.

"What? No, Captain, you can't be serious! We gain nothing by diplomacy," argued Kirk fervently. "Going over to that ship is a mistake!"

"I, too, agree. You should rethink your strategy," interjected Spock. "And unless Mr. Potter can make himself invisible, I do not see how he can safely accompany you on board the _Narada,_ given that Nero is expecting you alone. He will not hesitate to kill you both – he has already demonstrated his resolve by obliterating six Federation ships and their entire crews."

Silence settled on the Bridge as Spock's words sank in.

A small, mischievous smile appeared on Harry's face.

"Well, lucky for you, I've got this with me," he said, pulling out a shimmering piece of fabric out of his pocket.

"How?" Hermione gasped. "I didn't think you carried it with you anymore . . ."

"I don't. It's just that Ron and I were supposed to go on a scouting mission today, so I brought it with me to work, just in case. And then you know what happened. . ." Harry trailed off sadly.

Hermione nodded.

"Mind cluing in the rest of us?" inquired Kirk, running a hand through his hair.

Instead of replying, Harry put on his cloak of invisibility and disappeared. Everyone gave a sharp intake of breath, eyes wide.

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, "Show off."

Harry then took the cloak off his head, revealing it, a winning smile on his face, while the rest of his body was still hidden underneath the cloak and invisible. Several people screamed upon seeing a hovering, disembodied head.

"Good God!" McCoy voiced everyone's thoughts. "This is just getting better and better!"

"Where did you get this guy? Who are they really?" asked Kirk.

"Zey can do magic viz zouse . . . zouse vands! Meester Potter is a vizard, and Miss Granger is a vitch!" announced Chekov happily.

"Yeah, right. And I'm the Sugar Plum Fairy!" retorted McCoy sarcastically, crossing his arms and glaring at the Ensign.

"But it iz true! I haff seen it myself!" defended the young Russian.

Hermione gave him a smile as a thank you for his support. Pavel blushed and looked down.

"It's a long story, and we don't have time for that right now," stated Pike. "We need to get going before Nero changes his mind and kills us all."

Pike addressed the entire Bridge, "I need officers who've been trained in advanced hand-to-hand combat."

"I have training, sir," announced Sulu, raising his hand as though he was still in school.

"Come with me. Kirk, you too. You aren't supposed to be here anyway. Harry, Hermione, walk with us," he added.

Then he turned to face the rest of the Bridge, his entire demeanor radiating sternness. "Oh, and until we figure out the situation of Ms. Granger and Mr. Potter's mysterious appearance on the Bridge, I want everyone to keep what they know to themselves. Is that understood?" Pike's tone was firm and meant business.

"Aye, Captain," they responded in unison.

"Good. Uhura, contact Engineering and have Chief Engineer Olson meet us at the shuttlebay."

"Yes, sir."

"Chekov, you have the conn," and with that, Pike started walking out the door with Spock, Kirk, Sulu, Harry, and Hermione trailing behind.

"Aye, Keptin!"

* * *

"For the time being, I think it's best to keep your abilities and origins hidden from the rest of the crew of the _Enterprise,_ " Pike spoke directly to Harry and Hermione as the group walked down the hall.

He opened the door to the nearest storage room that was full of uniforms and expertly picked out some clothes: two red shirts, black undershirts, black pants, and boots. He gave them to Harry and Hermione.

"Once we get back, we'll figure out what to do with you and how to help you. For now, put these on so that you don't stick out like sore thumbs," he instructed, pointing out changing areas for the two of them.

As Harry and Hermione disappeared into their respective bathrooms, Pike turned to address his First Officer.

"Spock, look after Ms. Granger. Keep her close at all times, for her own safety. She'll be left here alone with people she doesn't know, in an environment that's completely foreign to her. I can only imagine the stress involved."

"Aye, Captain."

"And give her a PADD with access to files on Earth's history for the last two and a half centuries. They might be stuck with us for a while, I don't know. But I'm assuming they would want to be better acquainted with the environment and know what happened between 2001 and now. 257 years is a long time, and I don't want them to be completely unprepared when we get back to Earth."

"Sir, are you saying they're from the past?" asked Kirk in amazement.

"Yes," Pike said simply. "I know, don't look at me like that. It's hard to believe, but it's true. Hermione showed me her memories."

"And how the hell did she do that?" Jim's tone was disbelieving.

"It appears Ms. Granger has knowledge of a technique similar to the Vulcan mind-meld. Am I correct, Captain?" inquired Spock.

"You are. I only know what I've heard and read about in regards to mind-melding, so I couldn't tell you how similar or different her method is. You might want to talk to her about it yourself."

"And they can really . . . do magic?" Kirk asked skeptically.

"Yes! I've seen it with my own eyes! It was incredible!" Sulu spoke excitedly.

Just then, Harry and Hermione returned from the bathrooms. Harry had his old clothes neatly folded in his hands, but Hermione carried nothing. The apparent disappearance of her old things was quickly explained as she briskly pulled out her wand and directed Harry's clothes into the mouth of her trusty beaded bag. Kirk's mouth fell open at the casual display of magic – which before, he had simply assumed was the work of advanced technology he'd never encountered before.

"I told you," smirked Sulu.

"We – we haven't really been introduced. I'm James Tiberius Kirk." Jim came out of his daze, and offered Harry his hand to be shaken. "Nice to meet you."

"Harry James Potter. Nice to meet you, too," said Harry, accepting the handshake.

"James T. Kirk. Call me Jim." Kirk turned to Hermione, giving her a wink and offering both his hand and his most dazzling smile.

"Hermione Jean Granger. Pleasure to meet you, _James_ ," she answered, politely shaking his hand even as she raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his flirtation.

"Pleasure is all mine." If possible, Jim's smile grew even wider.

"Oh, and I'm Hikaru Sulu." Another round of handshakes followed, this time with the ship's helmsman.

"All right then, now that we've all properly met, let's get going," the Captain ordered.

He led them all to the nearby turbolift, and within seconds they had descended to the level of the engineering deck right above the shuttlebay.

"Without transporters we can't beam off this ship," Pike explained as they walked through the deck. "We can't assist Vulcan, we can't do our job. Mr. Kirk, Mr. Sulu, and Chief Engineer Olson will space-jump from the shuttle. You will land on that machine they've lowered into the atmosphere that's scrambling our gear. You'll get inside, you'll disable it, then you'll beam back to the ship."

Pike reached another turbolift that would take them down to the shuttlebay and turned to look at Spock.

"Mr. Spock, I'm leaving you in command of the _Enterprise_. Once we have transport capability and communications back up, contact Starfleet and report what is going on here. And if all else fails, fall back and rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system."

Pike's gaze turned to Jim as he said, "Kirk, I'm promoting you to First Officer."

"Excuse me, sir, but – _what_?" asked Jim in surprise.

"While I'm gone we need to maintain the chain of command," explained Pike and added with a grim smile, nodding towards Spock, "And you two make a swell team."

"Captain?" said Spock, his tone as close to shock as he was willing to express. "Please, I apologize; the complexities of human pranks escape me."

"It's not a prank, Spock," responded Pike, his smile disappearing. "And I'm not the captain – you are. Let's go."

He stepped into the turbolift, Sulu and Kirk following him.

Hermione turned to Harry and threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly.

"Be careful, and come back in one piece."

She looked over Harry's shoulder at the three men in the turbolift, meeting each of their eyes in turn, her gaze slightly lingering on Pike's.

"All of you," she added.

They all nodded.

"I will," said Harry. "You be safe too."

Hermione pulled away from Harry and let out a small humourless laugh. "I'm not the one going to the enemy ship, Harry. What could possibly happen to me here?"

"What could possibly happen in the safest school in Britain?" he retorted sardonically, turning to leave.

"Sir, after we knock out the drill, what happens to you?" asked Kirk, just as Harry stepped inside the turbolift.

"Well, it's hard to tell right now. Harry might be able to teleport us back here . . . What is the range of your teleporting abilities by the way? I'm guessing it isn't unlimited?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not. I don't really know exactly what the range is. Only that the further the distance, the more dangerous it gets."

Upon seeing confused expressions around him, he clarified, "The risk of injury rises. You can get splinched."

Still blank faces.

"I'll explain that later. Anyway, we use Apparition only for travelling within the country, or the neighbouring countries. For international travel, we use a Portkey."

"So, what you're saying is that you might not be able to teleport us back here," clarified Pike.

Harry nodded.

"Well, we'll see then," continued Pike in answer to Kirk's question. "You might have to come and get us."

Just before the door slid shut, he managed to say one last thing. "Careful with the ship, Spock. She is brand new."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Beta Love: _**Scarlet Dewdrops**_ , ** _Insanity-Red._**

* * *

Chapter 4

Pike and Harry boarded the small shuttle that had been selected for their impromptu mission, while Kirk, Sulu, and Olson put on their suits.

"I know you have your wand and all, and I know what you can do with it from Hermione's memories. But I would still feel better if you had this as well. It's called a phaser," said Pike, handing Harry the weapon. "It's relatively simple to operate. Just point and shoot like a gun, flip this section to toggle what kind of shot. Blue for 'stun,' red for lethal."

He handed the young man a utility belt. "Here, use this to keep it on you at all times."

"Thank you," Harry replied simply, accepting the proffered objects.

The Captain sat himself in the pilot's seat, gestured to the copilot's seat for Harry, and started pressing buttons and flicking switches as he calculated and laid in the ideal course for the shuttle to take to give the trio the best chance of successfully landing on the drill.

Harry took his seat, and not knowing what else to do, simply stared out the forward viewport unseeingly. Though he should have been mentally preparing for the inevitable danger to come, this was the first moment he'd gotten a chance to stop and think.

 _Home. Will we ever get back there?_ he thought wistfully. But without knowing how they had got there in the first place, he and Hermione had nothing in terms of a way to return.

The dull clunk of boots against the metal floor of the shuttle announced the arrival of Kirk, Sulu, and Olson. The trio, clad in mismatched environmental suits – Sulu in gold, looking very confident, Kirk in blue, seemingly calm, and Olson in ruby, vibrating with way too much enthusiasm for someone who was quite possibly jumping to his death – took their seats in the main chamber as the shuttle hummed to life.

" _Shuttle 89, U.S.S. Enterprise, you are cleared for takeoff,"_ announced a disembodied male voice from somewhere overhead.

Harry tensed and gripped the armrests as the shuttle flew out into the blackness of space.

Pike sensed Harry's uneasiness and tried to reassure him. "It'll be fine, Harry. Relax. I've done this a thousand times. Just breathe."

"I know, it's just – I haven't exactly ever been in space before," admitted Harry, feeling embarrassed. "This . . . er . . . shuttle doesn't feel as safe as the _Enterprise._ "

Pike just chuckled as his fingers continued dancing around the control panel.

After a few minutes, Pike announced, "Pre-jump."

The trio in the back immediately stood and put on their helmets just before the doors between the cockpit and the main chamber slid shut.

"Gentlemen, we are approaching the drop zone," Pike stated, pressing a button on the console.

Three lever-like stabilizing bars extended from the ceiling with a hiss and slam. The jumpers gripped the bars above their heads with both hands, waiting for further instructions.

"We have one shot to land on that platform. They may have defences, so pull your chute as late as possible. Three, two, one."

Pike pressed another button, and the artificial gravity in the back compartment of the shuttle cut off, slamming the three jumpers into the ceiling.

"Remember, the _Enterprise_ won't be able to beam you back until you turn off that drill. Good luck," Pike finished as he pulled the lever down to open the floor of the shuttle's main chamber, through which the trio were launched downwards.

"And that's completely safe, is it?" said Harry, pointing after them.

"There are always risks in this line of work. They've been trained for it. I'm confident that they will succeed," answered Pike calmly.

He might have been trying to convince himself of that more than he was trying to convince Harry.

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "A fall like that, though . . . I once fell off a broomstick from very high up, and it was terrifying. But they're falling for _ages_!"

"A broomstick, huh?" Pike shook his head with a wry smile. "It still amazes me – the idea of a whole world of people like you, living on the same planet as us, right under our noses. I don't know how you guys manage to stay hidden, with today's technology and all."

"We have our ways," Harry grinned, visibly relaxing, then added thoughtfully, "Although, they must have improved beyond what I know in the past few centuries, since you still know nothing about us . . ."

Pike merely nodded and said, "You might want to put your invisibility cloak on now, just in case. We're approaching the _Narada_."

Harry did as he was told and disappeared from sight.

As the shuttle flew closer and closer, the silence grew in tension.

Pike felt the need to lighten the mood. "So, tell me about you and Hermione. You seem very close."

"Yes. Yes, we are. She's my best friend . . . Actually, more than that – she's practically my sister. We've been through a lot together – and she's always stuck by me, even when no one else did."

Pike threw a quick sideways glance to where he knew Harry was sitting. He found it somewhat disconcerting to talk to someone he couldn't see, even if he knew he was right there.

"And what about you?" Pike asked. "Anyone special waiting for you back home?"

"Yeah, there is," Harry spoke with fondness. "Her name is Ginny, she's my best friend Ron's younger sister. We've been engaged for three months now. She's – she's very beautiful. Fiery, just like her red hair, stubborn, brave, funny. She's not afraid to speak her mind, and she casts the best Bat-Bogey Hex," he finished, laughing.

"Bat-Bogey Hex?" Pike asked in puzzlement.

"Yeah. It's a hex that turns the target's bogeys into giant, black bats that fly out of their nose," explained Harry with amusement.

Pike laughed as well and said, "She sounds like a fun person to know."

"Yeah, she is . . ." Harry said wistfully.

He shook his head a little to snap out of it and blurted out, "And what about you, sir? Are you married? Do you have children?"

Harry threw a quick glance at Pike and noticed a pained expression cross his face before his features became unreadable again.

Harry made to apologize for bringing up what was obviously a sensitive subject for the Captain. "Er –"

"No, I'm not married. Not any more," Pike cut him off, silently excusing the personal nature of the questions since they weren't ill-meant.

The shuttle slowed significantly as he carefully navigated through the long, tentacle-like extensions of the _Narada_.

"I was married once, years ago, but my wife couldn't handle me being away so much, so she left. We didn't have any kids, either. Both of us were too busy with our work. So, now I'm married to my job," stated Pike with a sigh.

He didn't know why he'd told Harry – who he barely knew, Hermione's memories notwithstanding – such personal information. Maybe because the odds were so heavily stacked against them? Not many people knew that he had once been married. In fact, most people knew nothing about his personal life – he was a rather private man.

But Pike felt a strange connection to Harry, a gut feeling that he could trust the young man.

Still, he surprised himself when he continued sharing, "I'm not entirely alone, though. I have a sister, Charlotte. We're pretty close – like you and Hermione as far as I can tell. She has a son, William, whose father died when the poor kid was only seven. Charlotte never got over it, never remarried, so I kind of took on the role of a father-figure for Will. He enrolled in Starfleet Academy, following in my steps. He'll be graduating next year . . . Top of his class," he finished proudly.

Harry was silent for a moment as he let the Captain's words sink in.

Then he said, "Sir, I just wanted to thank you . . . for everything . . . for believing us, regardless of how mental our story sounded or how strange Hermione's memories must have been. I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful. I know Hermione is too."

"You are welcome," answered Pike with a hint of a smile. "I can only imagine what you two are going through. I might as well not make things harder for you."

They were very close to what must have been the hangar doors. It was hard to tell. The design of the grossly ostentatious ship didn't make any sense. As if in confirmation, the doors slid open.

"Well, looks like we've arrived," Pike announced with a heavy sigh, and began to guide the shuttle inside.

At first, it seemed as though there was no one in sight. But as soon as the shuttle landed and its doors hissed open, two Romulans with different tattoos all over their skin appeared, carrying weapons. They waited, impatience screaming from their expressions and postures, as Pike walked down the ramp of the shuttle and onto the metal floors of the ship.

"Follow me," one of the Romulans barked out, turning to walk away without waiting for Pike's response.

The other Romulan roughly grabbed Pike by the arm and started dragging him after the first one. Harry wordlessly cast a silencing charm on his feet and soundlessly made his way out of the shuttle to follow them. He could clearly see more Romulans – some hustling to accomplish some task or other and some working quietly at their stations, though all spared a moment to cast hostile glances at Pike as he was escorted past them.

The ship seemed even more massive from the inside, vast enough that the ceiling was lost to view. The light was an eerie shade of greenish-blue, and dim enough to throw strange, twisted shadows over everything. Distant noises filtered through here and there: sounds of footsteps, the faint hum of computer systems, echoes of an unfamiliar and harsh-sounding language, the hissing of hydraulics. Naked wires and tubes were everywhere, attached to innumerous computers and machinery, and steam rose off the equipment in certain areas.

In short, the interior of the vessel was just as chaotic and unpleasant to the eye as the exterior. To top it all off, it was very warm – considerably warmer than on the _Enterprise_ – which made it even more uncomfortable for the two humans.

There were many levels to the _Narada_ , and as Harry followed the trio deck after deck he wondered how in Merlin's name they would ever find their way out of here if he were to lose his wand. His hand gripped it tighter and he tried to commit to memory and make sense of every labyrinthine corridor they passed through. But it was akin to the maze of twisting passages in the tunnels beneath Gringotts; as they turned through similar hall after similar hall, he became more convinced that escape from this place without the use of magic would be unimaginable and futile.

Finally, they arrived at what must have been the Bridge. Although replete with instrumentation, it had the look of barely-organized bedlam. Through the large view screen, a planet could be seen – Vulcan. Right in front of the view screen was a rather large, black command chair, where Nero sat, his gaze distant and unfocused. He looked up as the group entered and his eyes locked with Pike's.

"Ah, Christopher. You finally made it," he sneered. "Took you long enough."

At that moment, a Romulan came up beside Nero and said something quietly to him. Pike didn't hear what was said, but Harry snuck forward to stand somewhere between Nero and Pike and heard every word.

"The red matter has reached the planet's core," the unnamed minion reported.

"Retract the drill. Move us to a safe distance. I still want to be able to see the planet though," ordered Nero loudly enough for everyone to hear.

The Romulan who delivered the message nodded and swiftly left to follow his Captain's orders and get back to his duties.

"Well, it looks like you arrived just in time to see the show," said Nero harshly, locking his eyes with Pike's once again.

His lips curled open, and the laughter that emerged made Harry's skin crawl as it echoed off the metal walls.

* * *

Spock and Hermione made their way back to the Bridge in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts – or in Hermione's case, absorbed in fiddling with the PADD he had given her to use.

As soon as they stepped onto the Bridge, Spock gestured for Hermione to take a seat at the secondary science station (currently empty due to Lieutenant Sommers filling in for Spock at the primary science station). He then went on to sit in the command chair, issuing out orders and receiving reports.

"Hi, I'm Nyota Uhura," said the communications officer with a wide smile and an outstretched hand.

"Hermione Granger. Pleasure to meet you," responded Hermione, returning the smile as she shook the woman's hand.

"Nice to meet you too. Tracey filled me in about everything," Nyota explained, indicating the woman in a blue dress at the primary science station.

Tracey smiled and gave a wave but continued working at her station.

"I'm really sorry," continued Uhura. "This must be quite a shock for you. If you need anything, don't be too shy to ask."

Nyota gave Hermione's hand a firm squeeze and then let it go.

"Thank you," Hermione replied quietly and took a steadying breath.

Hermione had been a bit concerned about staying alone on this ship with a bunch of strangers, since it would have only been natural for them to treat her with suspicion and caution – especially after witnessing her magic. However, it seemed that the good word Captain Pike had put in for them had made his officers treat her accordingly. For that, she was very grateful.

"Mr. Spock gave me a . . . PADD," she said uncertainly as she spoke the new term, indicating the device in her hands. "So that I could learn about Earth's history for the last two and a half centuries."

Not that she was averse to studying, but somehow this didn't seem like the appropriate moment for it. Harry had managed to put himself in danger yet again, and this time neither she nor Ron were there to back him up.

"Yeah, he's nice like that," said Nyota, looking over her shoulder at the Acting Captain with a fond smile.

Hermione immediately recognized that look. That was how her parents looked at each other; that was how Ginny and Harry looked at each other; that was how Ron and she . . .

 _No, no, no! I can't think of that right now!_

She forced herself to smile at Nyota, pushing away thoughts of Ron, of her family and friends. There would be time to think of them, and how to get back, _after_ she and Harry were out of immediate danger.

With that in mind, she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly to calm her nerves and turned to her PADD, as Uhura returned to her duties.

Hermione was grateful for the PADD and the distraction that it provided. She allowed herself to sink into the deluge of new information; unfortunately, it seemed that the deeper she went into the available history, the more it seemed like a new source of stress. These peoples' records from the 21st century and before . . . Something was wrong.

 _Harry and I might be in even bigger trouble than we originally thought . . ._

Her thoughts were interrupted when Uhura next to her suddenly exclaimed, "The jamming signal is gone! Transport abilities are reestablished!"

"Transporter control is reengaged, sir," stated Chekov from his station.

"Chekov, run gravitational sensors," Spock ordered. "I want to know what they are doing to the planet."

"Aye, Commander," said Chekov, his hands already rapidly moving around the terminal with determination to fulfill the task set before him.

Then realizing his slip of the tongue, he corrected himself hurriedly, "Keptin! Sorry – Keptin!"

" _Kirk to_ Enterprise _! They just launched something at the planet through the hole they just drilled. Do you copy,_ Enterprise _?"_ Kirk's concerned, static-filled voice resounded over the Bridge speakers.

"Yes, sir. Analyzing data now," one of the red-shirted officers confirmed.

"Keptin, gravitational sensors are off ze scale," Chekov suddenly announced, turning to Spock. "If my calculations are correct, zey are creating a singularity zat vill consume ze planet," he finished – shock, sadness, and disbelief evident in his voice.

"They are creating a black hole at the center of Vulcan?" Now it was Spock's turn to be shocked. _How was that even possible?_

"Yes, sir," Chekov nodded sadly.

"How long does the planet have?"

"Minutes, sir. Minutes."

Spock abruptly stood and made his way to the turbolift, halting briefly near the communications station to give Uhura her orders. "Alert Vulcan Command Center to signal planet-wide evacuation – all channels, all frequencies."

"Spock, wait!" Uhura took off after him, Hermione leaping to her feet to follow them.

"Maintain standard orbit," Spock threw another order at an officer in a red shirt as he stepped into the turbolift.

"Yes, sir."

"Where are you going?" Nyota asked, concerned.

"To evacuate the Vulcan High Council. They are tasked with protecting our cultural history. My parents will be among them."

"Can't you beam them out?"

"It is impossible. They will be in the katric ark. I must get them myself.

"Chekov, you have the conn," said Spock just before pressing the button for the lift doors to close, eyes still locked on Uhura's.

"Aye!" Chekov responded as he took a deep breath. "Ой-ой-ой!" **[1]**

Just before the doors of the turbolift slid shut, Hermione slipped inside.

"What are you doing?" Spock asked calmly as he looked at her.

"I'm coming with you," Hermione answered just as evenly, having made up her mind.

"No, you are not. The planet is about to be destroyed, and I will not allow you to go into danger. Captain's orders."

"You're the Captain now," she pointed out. "You could allow me to go, if you wanted."

"No. You are staying here," he said firmly as the doors of the turbolift slid open and he started walking down the corridor so fast that Hermione had to jog to keep up with his long strides.

"I can help you! Just let me help!" she raised her voice, attracting several looks from those they passed.

"You were not fit to go on a mission to the _Narada;_ therefore, you are not fit to go on this mission," he countered calmly.

Spock reached the weapons room and hastily punched a code to open the door. Then he picked up a phaser and a utility belt, punched the code once more for the door to glide shut, and resumed his rapid walk.

"But this is different! This is a rescue mission! This is your parents' lives!"

Spock just kept walking.

"Look, there is every indication I'll never see my parents again. If I can – and I _know_ that I can – I want to make sure that you get to see yours!" she finished, shouting.

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment. The others in the corridor paused to stare – someone openly disagreeing with Spock was nigh unbelievable. He was too intimidating, too implacable.

But contrary to their expectations, Hermione's words made Spock halt for a moment. He turned to look at her, sharp eyes searching.

"You discovered something on that PADD," he said, more a statement than a question.

Hermione just nodded solemnly.

Spock must have seen something in her eyes that made him change his mind.

"Very well. You are to follow my orders without question and stay close," he conceded.

After all, Pike did tell him to keep an eye on her and to keep her close. Spock knew it was not completely logical and he probably was letting his half-human part rule at the moment, but frankly, they were running out of time. Apart from that, with his parents – or rather, the Vulcan cultural repositories on the line, her unique abilities would likely be useful.

At that moment frantic-looking Chekov came out of seemingly nowhere and sprinted down the corridor, shouting, "Move! Move! Move! I can do zat! I can do zat! I can do zat!"

Hermione spared one incredulous look at the young Russian as she and Spock moved out of Chekov's way – then turned to give Spock a confident nod of agreement.

Spock turned on his heel and resumed his speedy walk towards the main transporter room with Hermione jogging after him.

"How are we getting there?" Hermione asked as she tried to keep up with Spock.

"We are beaming down to the surface of the planet," he responded coolly.

The unfamiliar term made her pause for a brief second, and she rushed to catch up as Spock whipped around a corner. "Er . . . right . . . What's 'beaming'?"

"Beaming is the term that is commonly used to describe the act of transporting. The transporter is a subspace device capable of almost instantaneously moving an object or a person from one location to another by dematerializing, transmitting, and reassembling said object or a person," explained Spock.

His answer was so precise and complete that it almost sounded like he was reading the explanation from a textbook. Hermione briefly wondered if this was what she sounded like in class while answering a professor's question.

"I am assuming that your method of transporting which you call 'Apparition' is similar to beaming?"

"Well, only somewhat," answered Hermione, coming out of her musings. "Both involve disappearing from one place and then reappearing in another almost instantaneously. But Apparition is much less technical and more about visualization and concentration. You can also Side-Along Apparate someone or something with you."

There was a heartbeat of silence before he stated, "Fascinating. Am I right to conclude that, unlike beaming, Apparition to a location one has never been to before is not possible?"

Hermione nodded in confirmation as she and Spock have finally reached the transporter room. She was happy to note that despite her jogging after Spock she wasn't out of breath. Yet another benefit of her Auror training.

Almost as soon as they entered the room, Kirk and Sulu materialized out of thin air, enveloped in golden light, as they fell on the transporter pad.

"Gotcha!" exclaimed Chekov excitedly from his position behind the transporter room terminal. "Ё-моё!" **[2]**

"Thanks," Sulu gasped out, trying to peel himself off the surface of the pad.

"No problem," Kirk wheezed similarly.

"Clear the pad. We are beaming to the surface," ordered Spock, stepping onto the platform and gesturing for Hermione to do the same.

"The surface of what?" Kirk asked incredulously as he and Sulu stepped down from the pad. "What, are you going down there? Are you nuts?"

Spock ignored him entirely and crouched into a position that would provide him with better balance on the likely unstable ground he was about to arrive on. Hermione followed his example.

"Spock, you can't do that! You can't take her with you! Pike said –"

"Energize!" Spock ordered, cutting Kirk off.

He and Hermione were enveloped in golden spheres as the outlines of the transporter room disappeared and were replaced by those of the doomed planet. They reappeared at the foot of a mountain. The ground was shaking, and rocks of all shapes and sizes tumbled down the slope in rapid succession. Hermione looked up and saw something like an entrance to a cave a little uphill from them, towards which Spock was now headed.

"Wait!" she shouted over the apocalyptic crashing of earth and stone, but Spock kept on running. "I can get us up there faster!"

That statement made Spock pause and Hermione took that opportunity to catch up with him.

Once she reached him, she held out her hand and said, "Take my hand and don't let go!"

Spock stared at her hand for a moment, but made no move to grasp it with his own. Vulcans were touch telepaths, so he would be reluctant to oblige her under normal circumstances – and currently, his mental shields were not exactly at their strongest.

"Just do it! We're wasting time!"

This got Spock moving. He took hold of Hermione's hand, and she turned on her heel, Apparating them right to the entrance of the katric ark.

Spock immediately released her hand and stumbled back to grab at the wall for support, his free hand rising to clutch at his now-churning stomach – the tube-like squeezing sensation, combined with the brief connection to her mind, was extremely disorienting.

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you. First time is always difficult," Hermione said gently.

She turned and ran through the tunnel into the ark. Spock took a deep breath and followed after her.

 _I hope I won't die here today_ , Hermione thought wildly as she ran.

Small rocks and dust fell all around them. This place wasn't going to hold for long. Finally, the tunnel opened up into a large cavern featuring massive statues of what Hermione guessed were some Vulcan deities or historic figures. In the center of the cavern on an elevated platform, surrounding one of those tall statues, were eight Council members. They looked like they were in deep meditation.

Spock's mother, Amanda Grayson, was the first one to see Spock and Hermione as they ran up the stairs.

"Spock!" she exclaimed, rather surprised, as she rose to her feet.

The other Council members came out of their meditation at Amanda's outburst.

"The planet has only seconds left," said Spock quickly. "We _must_ evacuate. Mother, now!"

He took hold of his mother's hand and the group ran for the exit.

Hermione stayed close to the majority of the group. One of the statues began to fall with a titanic groan.

 _"Arresto Momentum!"_ Hermione shouted, pointing her wand at it.

The statue froze mid-air. The two Vulcans who had narrowly escaped being crushed slowed in their escape, staring at Hermione in utter shock.

"Go! Go!" Hermione shouted, bringing them out of their daze and sending them running ahead of her as she levitated the statue over to the side and safely released it. It landed with a loud crash that rocked the ground beneath them.

She didn't make it another ten feet when a crumbling chunk of another statue began falling right over an elderly Vulcan male. She dealt with it the same way she did with the first one. This Vulcan, thankfully, did not waste time as the other two did and kept on running towards the exit. She could hear Spock shouting at her to hurry up and to stay close, since she was now following at back of the group.

Several similar incidents occurred before they had all made it safely out of the katric ark.

As soon as they were out, Spock pulled out his communicator and spoke into it, "Spock to _Enterprise_. Get us out now!"

" _Locking wolume,"_ Chekov's voice sounded from the other side. _"Don't move, stay right where you are."_

Destruction was all around them. It was like seeing the fires of hell erupt from the planet's core and devour the mountainous terrain around them. The Council members looked at the sight in front of them, their faces blank, but their eyes full of agony. The ground continued shaking violently. It was hard to hear anything else other than the rumbling thunder of falling rocks. Their time was running out.

Then, golden light began to encircle them as the ground beneath them started giving out.

Attempting to comfort them in case they didn't make it, Amanda – who was standing closest to the edge of the cliff – turned around to look at her son and her husband.

"It's okay," she told Spock gently, "to be scared."

And then the ground beneath her feet vanished and she fell.

"MOTHER!" Spock shouted, his face twisting in agony, as he stretched out his arm, trying desperately to hold on to her, to lessen the distance – only a few meters – that separated them.

But she was already gone.

Then, to make the situation even worse, Hermione dove off the cliff after her.

"NO!" he shouted as the outlines of his dying planet disappeared, and he found himself in the transporter room again, arm still outstretched.

* * *

 **A/N.** **Has anyone ever wondered what it was that Chekov was saying in Russian in the movies? Here's the translation, if you have:**

 **[1] Ой-ой-ой - Russian interjection, colloquial, which means "My, my!"**

 **[2] Ё-моё - colloquial, which means "Oh, boy!"**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Beta Love: _**Scarlet Dewdrops**_ , **_Insanity-Red._**

* * *

Chapter 5

Hermione was falling fast, and she was terrified. She briefly wondered if this was how Harry felt when he'd fallen out of the sky during a Quidditch match because Dementors had invaded the pitch. It must have been similar – except he hadn't had an avalanche of debris falling along with him. Heavy chunks of earth dropped with her, with enough narrow misses to make her wonder if she might die before she even hit the ground.

 _Brilliant! Just bloody brilliant! Well done, Hermione! I'm always the one to berate Harry for his reckless behaviour, and here I am doing exactly what he would have done in this situation! He must have rubbed off on me after all these years. If I survive this, he won't let me hear the end of this. Brightest witch of my age, my arse!_

Allowing her internal ranting to transform into focus, Hermione gathered herself and angled her body into a more streamlined position. It didn't take very long for her to reach Amanda.

The air burst out of Hermione's lungs as she collided with the older woman, but somehow the witch managed to firmly take hold of her by the waist.

"Hold on!" she gasped as loudly as she could, whistling wind filling her ears.

Amanda's dark eyes were wide with fear and shock, her mouth a taut, white line. She might not have even heard Hermione over the rumble of falling rocks and shaking ground.

Hermione positioned her body to shield the older woman from all the falling rocks. Dirt and pebbles pelted her body, heralding the arrival of a foot-wide chunk of cliff that glanced off her skull on its way down. Fuzzy stars exploded in her vision, and she determinedly pushed past the sudden dizziness afflicting her.

There wasn't much time, Hermione knew that. She had to think – and act – fast.

Fast. They were falling too fast. They needed to slow down.

Focus was a slippery thing, but Hermione pointed her wand at Amanda and herself and said, _"Arresto Momentum."_

She couldn't hear herself over all the noise, but the spell worked nonetheless. The two women slowed significantly in their fall.

Hermione took a deep breath to ready herself. This was their only chance.

Apparating while in motion was dangerous. The risk of getting splinched would be higher both for herself and her passenger. In addition, Hermione still had not fully recovered from her wound. Yes, she had side-along Apparated with Spock earlier, but it was a miracle that her wound hadn't reopened. Plus, at the time they hadn't been moving; free falling was a substantially more dangerous position.

But considering the alternative was certain death . . . ? Yeah, there was no alternative.

Their time was running out just as quickly as the distance between them and the ground – or rather, the distance between them and a rapidly growing black hole that was consuming the ground. They were falling slow enough now that Apparition _could_ succeed without injuring either of them.

Hermione rotated them so that they were both on their sides in the air, hoping to avoid landing on top of the older woman once they Apparated.

Taking another deep breath, she mentally recited the Three D's they'd all been taught: _Destination, Determination, Deliberation_.

Hermione closed her eyes, destination firmly in her mind, hoping that she wouldn't land on top of anyone and that she wouldn't splinch herself or her passenger . . . and then Disapparated, just as golden spheres began to envelop them . . .

* * *

Time seemed to freeze, or perhaps loop, as the same string of thoughts repeated itself over and over in Spock's head, _I have failed. I have failed my mother. I have failed my planet. I have failed Captain Pike. I have failed . . ._

The agony and pain from losing not only his mother, but also his home world, made it difficult to breathe. Despair and overwhelming guilt manifested as actual, physical pain. And every one of these negative feelings was only felt countless times over, the feedback from those of his people stranded on their dying planet nearly crippling Spock.

He lowered his hand slowly and took a shaky step forwards, so loud in the eerie stillness of the room. His eyes – his mother's eyes, a distinctly human shade of brown – fell on the curved glass installed on the floor of the pad next to his own, where the woman who had given birth to him should have been standing. He looked behind himself to the spot where Hermione should have been standing, thoughts of his own failure consuming him with renewed vigour.

Then Chekov's frantic voice pierced through the cacophony of feelings and thoughts, bringing him out of his inner turmoil.

"Clear ze pad! Clear ze pad! I still haff ze signal!"

* * *

" _Spock to_ Enterprise _! Get us out now!"_ the Acting Captain called urgently over the intercom.

"Locking wolume. Don't move. Stay right where you are," answered Chekov, his fingers tapping away at the screen in front of him.

Sulu and Kirk stood right behind him, watching everything with bated breath.

"Transport in five, four, three, two . . . I'm losing her! I'm losing her! I'm losing her!" Chekov sounded frantic as he desperately tried to do something for Spock's mother, even as he finished the process of beaming the rest of the group from the collapsing planet.

"No! Not her too!" he shouted as the second signal plunged downwards.

The outlines of eight figures enveloped in golden light appeared on the transporter pad and solidified. Spock stood there, one arm outstretched, eyes open but unseeing as they rested on the spot his mother should be standing.

No one spoke for a few heartbeats. And then . . .

"I still haff ze signal! Zey are not gone! Zey . . . are falling slower . . . Zey are slowing down," said Chekov, his tone disbelieving and eyebrows rising to his hairline in surprise.

It defied the laws of physics. Everyone turned their attention to Chekov except for Spock, who remained oblivious in his state of shock.

"I can beam zem up! Clear ze pad! Clear ze pad! I still haff ze signal!"

Spock snapped out of his daze at those words. Everyone on the pad quickly sprang into motion and descended the steps leading into the transporter room.

Chekov's hands were already a blur of frenzied movements over the control panel as he started the process of beaming the two women up. But after a few seconds, the signals disappeared once more.

"No! I lost zem! I lost zem . . ."

Hands still hovering over the terminal, he looked up at Spock who was now standing next to him, not quite sure what to say, if anything. Spock was still looking at the screen, where only recently there were two signals, whatever faint hope he might have had a moment ago mercilessly crushed.

Then, a miracle happened. At least, to everyone present, that was what it appeared to be.

A loud crack sounded, and a fraction of a second after that, Amanda and Hermione fell on the transporter pad out of thin air – no golden lights accompanying their arrival. They were only about a foot above the pad when they fell, but it was enough to cause a loud thud in a room that was eerily quiet. For a moment, they laid there face-to-face, breathing heavily.

"I apologize . . . for the rough landing," Hermione managed to gasp out.

The next moment Spock's mother sat up and became violently ill.

"And for that . . . I'm so sorry," Hermione groaned as she sat up as well, wincing from pain and fighting a bout of dizziness – though she took a moment to wave her wand and vanish the vomit.

Several people gasped at the display of magic, but Hermione barely noticed. Her head was pounding, there was strange buzzing in her ears, something uncomfortably hot and sticky was making its way down along her face, and there was a sharp, blinding pain in her right side indicating that her wound had reopened.

But, thank Merlin, they had made it. They were alive.

Spock was first to come hurtling towards her and Amanda.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, voice slightly breaking, his emotions clearly running high as he gave her a quick once-over.

Once he was satisfied, he gave her a firm hug. At that moment it did not matter that the Vulcan Elders and several other people were in the room. He let his human emotions take over, and for once he did not care. His mother was alive!

Sarek approached his wife and son and it seemed he was of a similar mind – with little hesitation, he tightly embraced both of them.

Everyone else came out of their stupor as well, as the room erupted into noise and motion. Someone was yelling into the communicator for a medical team to hurry up to the main transporter room. Someone else was reporting to the Bridge about the successfully accomplished mission of retrieving the Vulcan High Council. Other reports flew back and forth, alongside less professional chatter about the strange things they'd just witnessed. Only the Vulcans in the room, minus Sarek and Spock, seemed to remain silent and stoic.

 _Mission accomplished, and I'm still alive,_ Hermione thought with a giddy smile, looking at Spock and his parents with a content glint in her eyes.

A moment later, Kirk and Sulu popped up next to her.

"Hermione!" Kirk exclaimed, kneeling down beside her. "You look like hell!"

"It's good to see you again, too, James," she replied, grimacing from pain and mild irritation as she put her hand to her side where her wound was. Her hand came away bloody.

"I – I didn't mean it like that. That came out totally wrong," he defended, and then offered her a hand. "What I meant to say is that you're bleeding, and you need to go to the Medbay. Let me take you to Bones."

"B-bones?" she asked, confused.

It sounded a bit dubious to her, and she'd honestly rather use her magic rather than submit herself to whatever medical science they might employ – so, she began to tell him she was fine.

"The hell you are!" Dr. McCoy exclaimed gruffly as he burst into the transporter room, medical kit in hand, followed by a few other people clad in white carrying similar medkits.

McCoy headed straight for Hermione, and the rest of his team started to escort the newly-displaced Vulcans toward the Medbay.

"That would be Bones," Kirk smiled widely, revealing the kind of straight, white teeth that her parents would have loved.

"I'm taking you to medical," stated McCoy after a mere glance over her current state.

The doctor reached over to help her up, but Kirk jumped at the chance and was quicker to scoop her into his arms.

"I can walk, thank you," protested Hermione, though her body betrayed her statement with a telling wince at being jostled.

"That's probably a bad idea right now," Kirk retorted. "Looks like you took quite a hit to the head there."

"He actually has a point there," agreed McCoy. "The less you move, the easier it will be for me to fix you. Don't make my job more difficult."

McCoy shot a meaningful look at Spock as they left, conveying that he should be taking his parents to the Medbay as well. The Vulcan just nodded in response.

"Sulu, you come along too," Bones threw over his shoulder as he walked out after Jim and Hermione.

The good doctor didn't want to miss a thing – not even the relatively minor scrapes, bruises, and bloody knuckles of the one who helped knock out the Romulan drill.

The group hurried along the corridor towards the Medbay. Hermione felt weak and dizzy from previous injury and exertion that she was glad her little protests – against going to Medbay, and even against being carried – had been ignored.

"Thank you, James," she mumbled, closing her eyes and resting her head on Kirk's shoulder.

"No problem," he smiled down at her.

"What happened?" McCoy addressed the query to Kirk and Sulu since Hermione seemed to be in no condition to answer.

The doctor held a small tricorder near her temple and looked rather unhappy with the readings.

"Well, you'll have to ask Spock for details, but it looked like she jumped off a cliff after Spock's mother and then did that teleporting thingy to the transporter pad," Sulu explained.

"She's nuts," stated Kirk, his tone a strange mix of amazement, rebuke, and amusement.

Hermione looked like she wanted to interject, but Sulu came to her defense first, "No more than you are. If you don't remember, you were the one who jumped off that drill after me!"

"Yeah, but I had a chute!" Kirk defended. Then added, "At least, when I jumped off I did . . ."

"And she has her magic!" exclaimed Sulu, surprising even himself over the ease with which he'd used the word.

Magic wasn't supposed to be real, it was supposed to be something out of fairy tales and bedtime stories.

"Just realized how ridiculous that sounded? But yeah, point taken."

The doctor just shook his head and pursed his lips in exasperation at their banter, but said nothing in favour of mentally going through steps of treating his new patient. He still didn't quite believe in magic. Whatever he had seen earlier – the Apparition and Harry's disappearance under the invisibility cloak – could just as easily have been some tricks performed with experimental technology.

The white doors of the Medbay slid open to reveal a buzz of activity. McCoy directed Kirk towards the nearest empty biobed and went to work on his patient immediately – all the while barking out orders to his nurses.

Hermione felt like she could pass out at any moment, but realized that she had to seal the bleeding wound on her side first, so she wordlessly waved her wand in its general vicinity. First, she vanished her old bandages; then, she knit her skin back together once more. That last bit of magic taxed her already exhausted reserves of energy, and within seconds, she was unconscious.

To say that Bones was surprised would be an understatement. He paused in his hunt for the right meds, his mouth falling open as he turned to look at Kirk and Sulu in shock.

"She really can do magic, can't she?" he breathed.

The two just nodded in response and smirked.

Just then two nurses approached Kirk and Sulu to help them with their comparatively minor injuries, and McCoy got back to his patient, working very efficiently and focusing the majority of his attention on the head wound first.

 _It certainly has been one hell of a day. And it ain't over yet,_ he mused, wondering what else they would be thrown into before this was over.

Oh, how right he was. It was far from over.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.42_** ** _–_** **_the Narada_**

From the massive view screen, Pike and Harry watched in dumbstruck horror as Vulcan crumbled and imploded, collapsing into the titanic black hole that had appeared in its center. Every soul stranded upon the planet – and the mountains, cities, and infrastructure that had held their lives – all of it stripped into nothingness in a matter of moments. Both Pike and Harry were no strangers to loss and death – but this was on a scale beyond anything they had ever witnessed.

Most people couldn't actually feel what others did, no matter how much they might try to empathize – and humans were no Vulcans. But witnessing genocide of an entire species and being unable to stop it could not leave any sane person unaffected.

The feeling of despair that hit Harry at that moment was comparable to a Dementor attack.

"Set course for Earth," barked out Nero, and the ship almost immediately went into warp.

Nero's words snapped Pike out of his shock and he stepped forward, burning with quiet rage. He didn't make it two steps towards Nero before the two Romulans who had escorted him from the shuttle grabbed him firmly by the arms and held him tight.

"You! You have just committed genocide against a peaceful planet," Pike seethed. "You will answer for that crime –"

"No! I _prevented_ genocide!" Nero snarled.

Pike glared back resolutely.

The _Narada's_ Captain took a moment to compose himself and started pacing in front of Pike.

"In my time, where I come from, this is a simple mining vessel. I chose a life of honest labour to provide for myself, and the wife who was expecting my child."

Nero stopped in front of a terminal to Pike's left and brought up a hologram. The projected image was of a smiling Romulan woman with curly brown hair, curving an arm around her heavily pregnant stomach.

Nero stared at her with a mad intensity, and his next words hissed out like steam. "I was off planet, doing my job, while your _Federation_ did _nothing_ and allowed my people to burn! My planet break in half!"

Nero paused for a moment, his rage working up to new heights. "And _Spock_. He did not help us – he betrayed us!" he spat angrily.

Pike looked at Nero in disbelief. "No, no. You're confused. You've been misinformed. Romulus hasn't been destroyed. It's out there right now. You are blaming the Federation for something that hasn't happened –"

"It has happened!" shouted Nero, rage and pain contorting his features. "I watched it happen! I saw it happen! Do _not_ tell me it did not happen!"

He slammed his hand down on the terminal, and the hologram of his late wife disappeared.

"And when I lost her, I promised myself retribution." His voice lowered dangerously as he continued to pace back and forth like a caged wildcat. "And for twenty-five years I planned my revenge against the Federation, and forgot what it is like to live a normal life. But I did not forget the pain."

He halted, looking Pike directly in the eyes, his expression dark and furious. "It is a pain that every surviving Vulcan now shares."

 _Oh, isn't this just fantastic! Not only do we have a time-travelling witch and a wizard from the past, we now have deranged Romulans from the future!_ Pike thought bitterly as the understanding dawned on him.

"If what you say is true," he tried to reason with the angry Romulan, though honestly, he didn't have high hopes for the man's capacity for reason given that he'd just committed genocide, "you can save Romulus. Your planet is still out there. You have a second chance to –"

"No!" Nero cut him off with a shout.

After a moment, he composed himself and continued, remarkably calm, "My purpose, Christopher, is to not simply avoid the destruction of the home that I love, but to create a Romulus that exists free of the Federation. Only then will she be truly saved."

Pike wasn't quite sure if by 'she' Nero meant his home planet or his wife. Either way, it hardly mattered, for Nero's next words filled him with unadulterated dread.

"That is why I will destroy all the remaining Federation planets . . . Starting with yours," Nero finished ominously, locking eyes with Pike once more as he picked up his ceremonial staff.

Pike hid his fear beneath an icy glare, remaining determinedly silent as he stared Nero down.

After a few moments, Nero spoke again, "You must be wondering why you are here. The answer is simple: I need subspace frequencies of Starfleet's border protection grids – specifically those surrounding Earth, since that is where we are currently headed."

Nero moved closer, a dangerous sneer on his face, and his fingers clutched tightly around the staff he was carrying.

"You _will_ give me the frequencies to disable Earth's defences."

Pike answered, his tone hard and cold, defiance burning in his eyes, "Christopher Pike – Captain, _U.S.S. Enterprise._ Registration NCC-1701 –"

"You – you pathetic human!" Nero raged, and four blades snicked outwards from the top of the staff. The Romulan brought the weapon to Pike's throat, visibly trying to restrain himself from immediately murdering the human. "I will –"

No one got to find out exactly what Nero was going to do with Pike, because at that very moment, Harry decided it was time to act.

He understood Nero's pain, he really did. Harry had lost his family and his childhood in short order, and had only gone on to lose more – first his godfather, and more during the war than he wanted to count. And now, thrust into the future with its ridiculously advanced technology and alien species and not knowing whether he and Hermione would ever get back . . . Yes, he understood Nero's feelings perfectly. If he and Hermione couldn't get back to their own time, his world would be lost to him forever, just like Nero's world had been.

But there was a big difference between knowing those feelings and letting madness take over.

Nero had given in to the pain, despair, and loss – and now he was nothing more than an insane shell of a man, driven only by his desire for vengeance.

Harry, on the other hand, subscribed to the saying _'An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.'_ It was why the Disarming Charm was his signature spell. Even against Voldemort, as evil and twisted as that monster had been, Harry hadn't resorted to the Killing Curse. Even if in that particular case he had inadvertently killed his enemy, Harry didn't have it in him to willfully murder someone – let alone an entire planet.

So despite Harry's sympathy for Nero's loss, his complete condemnation of the Romulan's subsequent actions had him blasting the man across the room and into the view screen. The two who were holding Pike in place followed shortly after. Before they could get back to their feet, Harry rushed towards Pike, grabbed him by the arm, and Disapparated them away to one of the tunnels that they had passed by on their way to the Bridge.

Fortunately, there wasn't anyone in sight. Pike stumbled and held onto the nearest wall for support as his knees wobbled and a wave of nausea hit him. He breathed heavily in an attempt to push back the urge to throw up.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know from experience that side-along Apparition makes you feel like you're going to lose everything you ate for the past week, but I had to get you out of there fast before he murdered you," said Harry, already turning to raise protective enchantments and stealth spells around their current position. "You're actually doing remarkably well. Most people vomit at least once the first time around."

"Trust me, I nearly did," gasped out Pike, looking a bit green. "But thank you."

At that moment, an alarm blared throughout the ship, and someone barked out a ship-wide announcement in Romulan. It didn't take a genius or a xenolinguist to figure out what that was about.

"We can talk here and make necessary plans to determine our next step without fear of being discovered. I cast some spells to keep us from being found," informed Harry.

"You sure can do a lot of things with that wand of yours," said Pike, impressed. "Must be nice to have magic."

"Yes, it is," Harry replied simply. "Are you injured?"

"No, thanks to you, I'm not," he said, rubbing his throat where Nero's weapon was pressed to it. His hand came away with a little bit of blood. "It's just a scratch."

"Got an idea of what to do next? You definitely have a better understanding of our current situation than I do."

"Can you get us out of here? By teleporting, I mean. As much as I don't want to do _that_ again, we need to get help and inform Starfleet about the danger to Earth and the other Federation planets."

"I'm afraid Apparition is out of question. By the looks of it, we're moving rather fast. We're probably already quite far from the _Enterprise_. I've never tried to Apparate a distance like that, and this isn't exactly the time to experiment."

Pike huffed in amused agreement. "Okay. Then we need to get a message to the _Enterprise_ so they can spread the information on what Nero's planning. To do that, we need to get to the shuttle."

"Understood." Harry unstrapped the phaser and the utility belt from his waist and handed them to Pike. "You'll need these. I've got my wand."

In hindsight, bringing an extra phaser would have been a good idea – but they'd been in enough of a rush that Harry's last second addition had left him unequipped by Starfleet standards.

Pike nodded, accepting the weapon with a certain amount of relief at being armed in such a hostile environment. "Thank you. Once we send out that message, we'll need to locate the black hole device and disable it somehow."

Harry nodded. "The thing that destroyed that planet – he called it Red Matter."

"He? Who?" Pike asked, confused.

"The Romulan who came to report to Nero after we arrived in that room with the large window."

"What did he say? I didn't hear anything."

"He said that 'the Red Matter had reached the planet's core.' That's all. After that, the planet . . ." he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. It was still beyond him how _anyone_ could destroy a whole _planet_.

Pike sighed. "I don't even know how we'd find it. I mean, this is one hell of a ship. It could take us days – and that's if we're lucky and don't get lost in this damn maze. On top of that, we'll be playing hide and go seek with some pissed off Romulans. But we have to try."

Harry sighed as well. "Maybe we should have taken Hermione with us," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "She could use her Legilimency skills to find out where the Red Matter is. I always seem to end up needing her help. Should have seen it coming this time too . . ."

"And how would she have stayed hidden?"

"With me, under the cloak. It'd fit us both – has done before." He shrugged his shoulders. "There's also the Disillusionment Charm to help stay hidden, but it's usually not as good as the invisibility cloak. I just really didn't want to put her in danger again . . ."

"Well, when we send out the message, we could request Spock's presence here," Pike said thoughtfully. Then seeing Harry's questioning look, he clarified, "Spock possesses similar skills to Hermione. It's called the Vulcan mind-meld. He can see into another's mind: read their thoughts, see their memories, that sort of thing."

Pike paused. "Then again, Spock might be emotionally compromised right now. After all, he has just lost his planet . . ."

"Hermione it is, then. With her skills and magic, plus mine, we can stop Nero. We have to. If he destroys Earth . . ." The very thought of that was beyond frightening, and Harry quickly pushed it away. "No, we can't allow it. Hermione and I make a very good team. I'm certain we can do this."

Pike studied the face of the young man before him. Harry's very presence seemed to emanate strength and courage, giving Pike hope amidst their seemingly hopeless situation. Maybe it was a gift – from whatever deity or Higher Power that was watching over the universe – that these two magical people had appeared in the moment of need.

Standing up straighter, resolve written in the set of his shoulders, Pike spoke with a renewed surety, "We should go. The sooner we send that message, the better."

"Okay, let's do this," Harry said with a nod, holding out his hand. "It should be easier the second time around," he added encouragingly.

The second time around was not easier for Pike.

They Apparated into the hangar with a loud crack, just in time to see a Romulan walking out of the shuttle. Completely taken off guard, he was easily stunned with a quick jab of Harry's wand. He fell to the ground, and the rifle he'd been carrying hit the metal floor with a loud clang. If the noise of Apparition hadn't attracted more attention, that definitely did. Three more Romulans, who had been working at nearby terminals, turned towards the commotion and reached for their rifles.

But Harry was faster. While Pike was still trying to regain his footing and fight back another wave of nausea, the wizard quickly and neatly stunned the Romulans. The flashes of bright red light in the dimly lit interior of the ship unfortunately attracted the attention of several more Romulans on the far side of the hangar. In a matter of seconds, the two humans heard multiple sets of booted feet running toward them, accompanied by harsh shouts in Romulan.

"Captain, go send that message! I'll stay here and give you as much time as you need," Harry said determinedly, turning to face the incoming opposition.

Pike didn't need to be told twice. A little unsteady on his feet, he made his way into the shuttle, and what he saw there made his heart sink.

"Dammit!" he swore under his breath.

Two panels on the floor and one on the wall had been torn open, their circuits melted together by what looked like blasts from a Romulan rifle. Smoke filled the shuttle, along with the tell-tale smell of burnt metal and plastic. The shuttle had been effectively rendered inoperable, making it impossible for them to send the warning message. In fact, the shuttle would be utterly useless for _any_ purpose until the circuitry was replaced. There was no fixing it.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Harry when he entered the shuttle and saw the damage.

"There goes that plan, I suppose," he sighed in resignation, bringing up his free hand to massage his temples. The still blaring alarm was starting to give him a headache.

"Alright," Harry stated, "we need to get out of here. I took care of the nearby Romulans for now, but more are on their way, I'm sure of it. We need to find a place to take cover. I might have another idea."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Beta Love: _**Scarlet Dewdrops**_ , _**Insanity-Red.**_

* * *

Chapter 6

 ** _Stardate 2258.42_** ** _–_** ** _U.S.S. Enterprise_**

"Harry! No! _Harry_!"

Hermione awoke from the force of her own screams.

Another nightmare. This time, it had been Harry being tortured by Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor as she and Ron were forced to watch, helpless to do anything but listen to his agony. Then Bellatrix morphed into Nero, who was sneering and cackling with the madwoman's voice. And then Malfoy Manor followed suit, shifting into a dimly-lit room with metal tentacles coming out of the walls, making the entire scenery that much more horrifying . . .

She jackknifed into an upright position, gasping for breath, and was immediately assaulted by a dizzying sense of vertigo. A steady hand grasped her shoulder and attempted to guide her back down. Still half in her nightmare, Hermione began to struggle.

"Just take it easy, okay?" a male voice said. "You're safe. No one will hurt you here."

Some small part of her brain recognized the voice – or at least the tone – and she allowed herself to lie down once more. Bringing her breathing under control, she blinked away spots from her vision as her eyes adjusted to the bright light.

The man who James Kirk had called 'Bones' sat next to her bed in a chair. He held some kind of unfamiliar syringe-type object, and seemed quite ready to use it.

"Who are you?" Hermione blurted out.

"You don't remember?" replied the man in surprise.

He hastily set aside the object, and looked at the readings over her bed. He pressed a few buttons, his brow still furrowed in concentration.

"Your brain activity registered – and still does – as normal," he said, "so you shouldn't –"

Her question must have sounded more confused than curious.

"I _do_ remember," she interrupted. "It's just that everything happened so quickly, and I don't think I ever got your proper name."

Somehow she didn't think calling him 'Bones' would be appropriate.

"Ah. Good, then," he said, sounding a bit relieved. "I'm Doctor Leonard McCoy."

"Hermione Granger."

"Yeah. I know."

"And Harry?" she asked, turning to look for her best friend. "Where's Harry?"

Her body ached all over, and her head felt like it was about to explode, but she was honestly more concerned about the state of her friend now that she'd been medically attended to.

McCoy sighed. "He's still on the _Narada_ with Pike _,_ " he explained, picking up his PADD to make some notes.

"Any word from them?"

"No. Nothing."

He looked at her sympathetically, and then switched his gaze between the PADD and the biobed readings.

"Your vitals are a bit off," he said. "Heart rate is a bit high and irregular, blood pressure is elevated, pupils are slightly dilated. I patched you up as best as I could for now, but there's only so much I can do in a couple of hours."

"Is that how long I was out?"

"Yep. Two and a half – give or take. How are you feeling?"

"I feel . . . like I was attacked by the Whomping Willow," she responded wincing.

"By what?"

"Nothing. Never mind. It's nothing. Did I miss anything?"

McCoy gave her a look, and then picked up a small device and held it against one of her temples.

"Not much," he said. "Other than your visitors."

"Visitors?" she asked, confused. She barely knew anyone here, after all.

"Yeah. Amanda, once she was over her initial shock, hardly left your side. Her husband had to practically drag her off to the Mess hall to get something to eat. They just left, actually. Oh, and Uhura was by a couple of times, as well as Jim. And the green-blooded hobgoblin was hovering, constantly checking on you," he finished with irritation.

"Um . . . goblin?" She didn't recall meeting anyone with a goblin-like appearance. "And who is Amanda?"

"Amanda is Spock's mother. And by 'green-blooded hobgoblin' I meant Spock," he clarified in his ever-grouchy tone, jotting something down on his PADD.

"Does he actually have green blood?" she asked incredulously.

"That he does. All Vulcans do," he said, putting his PADD away.

 _Huh. That explains why he had a slight green tint to his skin then,_ she thought, amazed.

She watched as McCoy extracted the small canister that was attached to the syringe-type object he'd been holding earlier, replacing it with another he'd picked up from his medkit.

"Interesting," she voiced.

"Whatever you say, darlin' ," he said noncommittally.

He gestured to the object in his hands, "This will help with the pain. It won't hurt. Much."

Hermione eyed the doctor suspiciously, but made a split-second decision to trust his medicinal goodwill. He gently reached for her neck and jabbed the hypo into it. She barely flinched at the discomfort.

"Huh. Just look at that! What, no fighting me? No complaining? No threatening to turn me into a frog or whatever creature might pop into your pretty little head?" he teased, although the expression on his face remained as serious as ever.

"And why would I do that, may I ask?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes. Surprisingly, whatever pain medication the doctor had given her, already seemed to be taking effect.

"Oh, I don't know. I had Jim here earlier today fighting me tooth and nail and whining like a baby every time I gave him an injection. Such an infant . . ." he continued muttering and grumbling about Kirk's childish behavior earlier.

Strangely, the doctor's gruffness reminded Hermione of Mad-Eye Moody. But where a lifetime of fighting against Dark Magic had left Moody heavily scarred – in both mind and body – Doctor McCoy seemed much more approachable. From what little impression she'd had of him, the doctor seemed to be a compassionate soul with the best intentions beneath his curmudgeonly personality.

 _And_ she had the feeling that McCoy wasn't exactly the type to constantly bellow out _"Constant Vigilance!"_ The thought made her smile.

"What? Something funny?"

"Nothing. You just remind me of someone I knew . . ." she trailed off, averting her gaze, as she was suddenly reminded of how Moody died.

McCoy was quick to pick up on her pained expression – compassionate indeed. "Listen, why don't I leave you to rest? Maybe you could try and sleep a couple more . . ." he began, but stopped as she shook her head.

"I can't sleep right now. Not after that . . . nightmare I had," she practically choked out.

"I can see that you are rather busy here," she said, looking around and seeing doctors and nurses bustling around their numerous patients. "I have a Healer training, plus I have knowledge of Muggle medicine; I can help you. I know that your medical science is far more advanced than what I'm used to and I don't know how to operate your equipment, but I can help with the simpler tasks –"

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down. No need to talk a mile a minute," he said, raising a hand to stop her.

He gave her a long look, as if trying to determine if she was fit to be helping.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking much older than before. "It's true that we are pretty swamped here, and I would appreciate the help. I mean, a third of our medical personnel was blown up and away into space along with Dr. Puri on Deck 6 . . ."

The doctor definitely did care – the pain reflected in his eyes at the mention of his dead colleagues was proof of that. But Hermione also knew that being in the military (or whatever other type of vast, ranked organization that Starfleet might have been), didn't allow for much time to grieve while they were still trying to resolve whatever crisis had lost them people in the first place. There would be time to mourn losses later.

Then the name rang a bell. "Wait. Dr. Puri? Harry and I met him shortly after we got here."

"Yeah, well, he's gone," McCoy said flatly. "Dead. I don't know why I'm surprised. Space is death, disease, and danger wrapped in darkness and silence –"

"Doctor, I believe that is enough," Spock's monotone interrupted what was clearly a well-practiced train of thought as he appeared by Hermione's bed. "There is no need to frighten Ms. Granger."

McCoy rolled his eyes at Spock. "Yeah, whatever. It's the truth. I'm not one to sugarcoat things."

He continued, looking at Hermione, "Are you sure you don't want to get some more sleep? I could sedate you."

Hermione shook her head in response. "You need help here, and I want to help."

"I'll be right back then. I'll get you a PADD and change of clothes," he said, looking at Hermione's dirty and bloody uniform.

He promptly walked away, leaving Spock and Hermione alone.

Spock turned towards her and raised a single eyebrow. "I believe you should be resting and recovering, not assisting the doctor."

"Mr. Spock, I appreciate your concern, but I took a Healer training for a reason – I wanted to help people. I can't just lie here and do nothing when I know I can help and I am in the condition to do so. So, that is exactly what I am going to do," she answered, lifting her chin as if daring him to contradict her.

"As you wish. But I urge you to not overexert yourself," he conceded.

Hermione merely nodded in response.

"I wish to convey my gratitude to you for saving my mother and several of the members of the Vulcan High Council. They would not have survived had it not been for your efforts."

"You're welcome, Mr. Spock. It's the least I could do. I'm just sorry I couldn't do more. I'm sorry . . . about your planet."

She held his gaze for a few moments, and Spock detected profound emotional pain and some sort of internal conflict. Was she feeling _guilty_? Highly illogical.

"It is illogical to apologize for that which is beyond your ability to control," he voiced.

One of his hands reached for hers seemingly of its own accord – a gesture very human, but atypical for a Vulcan.

Later, Spock would meditate and contemplate his actions and note that this was another evidence of his emotionally compromised state, for in his right mind he would never have done that – Vulcans were touch telepaths, and it was thus ingrained in their very culture to respect each other's personal space. Moreover, skin-to-skin contact, even when not established through bioelectrical focal points located on the other's face, could still result in a mind-meld if there was a certain degree of openness and compatibility between the two in contact.

Spock's mind instantly melded with Hermione's. It was almost effortless. He was bombarded not only with multitude of her feelings – extreme worry and fear (most likely for Harry), deep sadness, despair, compassion, guilt – but also was able to catch a glimpse of a memory.

She was in Sydney, Australia, if the brochure in her hands was any indication. It read 'Sydney Olympics, 2000' on the front. The surrounding landscape only solidified that assumption. A male and a female, both older, stood near Hermione – likely her parents, given the physical similarities. They all looked . . . happy.

At the same time, Hermione found herself blasted by a boiling, twisting torrent of feelings from Spock. He definitely was no Ron Weasley with the emotional range of a teaspoon. The feelings were so intense that, combined with her own, they were almost paralyzing. Almost. She acted quickly and was able to slam down her Occlumency shields.

The sudden wall between their minds jarred them almost physically. Hermione and Spock both gasped, and the Vulcan jerked his hand away with a slight stumble backwards.

"Forgive me for the intrusion," he said, averting his gaze. "That was highly inappropriate of me."

"What just happened?" Hermione asked quietly, moving slightly away from Spock.

Spock took a moment to compose himself and met her gaze. She eyed him warily.

"Vulcans are touch-telepaths," he explained. "We can communicate through physical contact if our mental shields are not in place. It seems that mine are currently compromised due to current events."

Hermione felt her expression shift to match her sudden curiosity. "So, this happens with everyone you touch? I mean, when you don't have your shields up?"

"No, not everyone," he confessed. "In fact, this has not happened to me with anyone but a few members of my own species before."

Hermione blinked several times but didn't respond.

"I apologize for the intrusion," Spock continued. "I was fascinated with your mind. I caught a glimpse of it earlier, when we . . . Apparated. It is very logical, precise, and organized. Previously, I had only encountered such a mind in Vulcans."

She cocked her head to the side, allowing her gaze to unfocus slightly as she thought back to that particular memory. "But I didn't feel anything before. Why?"

"I presume it has to do with the fact that we were Apparating at the time. Your mind must have been singularly directed toward our destination. You deliberately blocked me in this instance. Do you possess mental shielding of your own?"

"You could say that, yes."

"Fascinating. Yours is very different from mine –"

A beeping of his communicator interrupted Spock's explanation.

"Spock here."

" _Captain, full reports from all decks are ready,"_ stated Uhura.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I will be on the Bridge shortly. Spock out."

He then addressed Hermione, "I would like you to come with me, Ms. Granger."

He looked at McCoy who had returned to the room with a new set of uniform and a PADD. "You as well, Doctor. All the senior command are currently on the Bridge, except for you. We need to discuss our next step."

Spock looked back at Hermione. "You may return to the Medbay with Doctor McCoy after the meeting, if you still wish to help him here. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes. Yes, of course, Mr. Spock."

* * *

Having dealt with the tasks that required immediate attention in the aftermath of the destruction of Vulcan and Nero's attack on the _Enterprise_ , the senior command – which mostly consisted of flash-promoted senior cadets of Starfleet Academy – gathered on the Bridge to determine their next step.

Hermione was almost reminded of the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, as they tried to devise plans and strategies to defeat Voldemort and his army. The atmosphere, she imagined, was very similar on the Bridge right now. Whereas the Order had gathered around the table in the kitchen of the Grimmauld Place, here almost every officer turned their seats inwards – each on an equal standing regardless of actual rank – for the purposes of planning their defence and counterattack.

"Have you confirmed that Nero is headed for Earth?" asked Spock, walking by the communications station towards the command chair.

"Their trajectory suggests no other destination, Captain," Uhura replied, turning to face Spock.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Earth may be his next stop, but we have to assume every Federation planet is a target," Kirk said, lounging in the command chair, eyes distant as his brain worked in overdrive.

"Out of the chair," Spock ordered tonelessly as he continued pacing through the Bridge.

Kirk gave the Acting Captain an annoyed look, but got up from the chair and went to stand by the rail next to McCoy.

"Well, if ze Federation is a target, why didn't zey destroy us?" asked Chekov, looking over his shoulder at Sulu, who was at the helm beside him.

"Why would they? Why waste a weapon? We obviously weren't a threat," responded Sulu.

"That is not it," interjected Spock with a tone of certainty. "He said he wanted me to see something – the destruction of my home planet."

"How the hell did they do that, by the way?" demanded McCoy in his usual grouchy tone. "I mean, where did the Romulans get that kind of weaponry?"

"The engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer. Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time," Spock replied evenly, looking around at the startled faces of the crew, who understood exactly what he meant.

"Damn it, man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" exclaimed McCoy in exasperation. "Are you actually suggesting they're from the future?"

" _If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_ ," Spock quoted in his usual monotone, his hands clasped behind his back.

"How poetic," muttered the doctor, crossing his arms over his chest.

Almost every pair of eyes on the Bridge shifted to look at Hermione, who once again sat between Nyota and Tracey, as she quietly observed the situation.

"What? Why are you all looking at me like that?" she asked defensively.

"What you said earlier, right after you appeared here – it sounded like you've _actually_ done some time travelling," said Sulu. "What can you tell us about it?"

"Well, erm, there are certain rules that you can't break when travelling in time," she started, standing up and taking a hesitant step forward. "For example, you are not allowed to be seen by your past self. Also, you are not allowed to alter past events that have already happened."

"But what is the point then, of going back in time, if you can't change the past?" inquired Uhura, slightly confused. "Isn't that the point though?"

"Well, no," Hermione answered. "The point is to change the future or to accomplish more in less time."

Looking at the confused faces around her, she continued, "For example, when I was fourteen, I used a Time-turner to get to all of my classes, some of which were held at the same time. That same year, Harry and I traveled in time to save his godfather from certain death. But you see, he wasn't dead yet when we used the Time-Turner, so the timeline was able to remain intact. If Harry's godfather had already been dead at the time of our time travel – well, that would have changed the timeline, which is forbidden. The timeline _must_ remain unaltered. It's dangerous to do otherwise."

"How so? What happens?" asked one of the male officers in a red shirt.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" she replied. "Changing the timeline can have catastrophic results – some people may never be born, some people may get killed in the past and never exist in the future, negating all accomplishments they would have made if they'd lived . . . The list goes on and on, depending on the circumstance. Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time."

"Nero has altered the flow of our history, beginning with the attack on the U.S.S. _Kelvin_ , culminating in the events of today, and thereby created an entire new chain of incidents," explained Spock, extrapolating on what Hermione had said within the context of their current circumstances.

"An alternate reality," realized Uhura, astonished.

"Precisely," agreed Spock. "Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed. Nero has changed the timeline."

"Well, he obviously didn't get the memo with the rules of time travel," commented McCoy sarcastically.

After a brief silence Kirk brought everyone's attention back to the task at hand. "Okay, but what would an angry future Romulan want with Captain Pike?"

"As Captain, he does know details of Starfleet's defenses," Sulu pointed out.

Several people nodded.

"And zat iz why Nero vanted Pike zere – for codes to disable zouze defenses and not for negotiations," summarized Chekov.

"Mr. Chekov, didn't you say that their ship is now travelling at a slower warp factor than before?" inquired Kirk, a pensive look on his face.

"Affirmative, sir."

"That means they still don't have those codes," deduced Kirk. "And Nero will need them, if he really is going to Earth. Earth is the capital of the Federation and therefore has the strongest defences – they may not be enough to destroy their ship, but they'll be enough to cripple it."

He remembered Pike's dissertation on the U.S.S. _Kelvin_ that explained how his father, George Kirk, had armed the ship's self-destruct and reinitialized the warp drive, generating a warp field at the moment of impact. It had caused considerable damage to the _Narada_.

"So, what we need to do is catch up to that ship, disable it, take it over, and get Pike and Potter back before Nero has a chance to get those codes," said Kirk resolutely, walking towards Spock.

"But Nero's ship vould haff to drop out of varp for us to overtake zem," Chekov countered. "Zey are still faster zan us."

"Then what about assigning engineering crews to try and boost our warp yield?" Kirk asked, floundering for a decent answer.

"Remaining power and crew are being used to repair radiation leaks on the lower decks –" Spock started evenly.

"Okay, all right!" Kirk attempted to cut him off, his aggravation mounting as he took a step towards the Acting Captain.

"– and damage to subspace communications, without which we cannot contact Starfleet –"

"There's got to be some way!"

"We must gather with the rest of Starfleet to balance the terms of the next engagement," concluded Spock firmly.

"There won't _be_ a next engagement!" Kirk insisted. "By the time we've gathered, it'll be too late! If Nero gets those codes, there won't _be_ Earth! There won't _be_ a Starfleet!"

"Mr. Kirk, we are but one starship that is technologically outmatched in every way," responded Spock. "A rescue attempt would be illogical."

"Sometimes you have to do the illogical thing in order to win in the end," Hermione spoke up again, locking eyes with Spock and taking a few more steps towards him.

"I do not see how illogical decisions can lead to victory," replied Spock in a neutral tone, raising an eyebrow in question.

"They can and they do. They did for us, anyway," said Hermione quietly.

Taking note of the many questioning looks directed at her, she took a deep breath and started, "You do remember the war that Harry mentioned earlier, right?"

Almost everyone nodded in response.

"Well, in order to win the War, several objects created by the enemy had to be destroyed. Without that, there was absolutely no chance of victory. Harry, Ron, and I set out to find and destroy those objects. We didn't know where to look for them, nor what the objects were. We didn't even know how to destroy them once we found them. And no, they couldn't be simply burned, smashed or blown up."

Hermione shifted from one foot to the other as everyone stared at her; she felt like a teacher giving a lecture with so many people watching her so attentively.

"But we succeeded in the end, against all odds and logic. I mean, we were still teenagers, barely adults – against one of the most evil people of all times and his army hell bent on killing everyone on their path to establish their supremacy. There wasn't much hope, only a fool's hope. The odds were not in our favour. But despite all of that, we succeeded. People operate on so many factors outside of logic and probability. And if three teenagers could figure out a way to bring down an evil wizard and his army, then why can't an entire starship and its crew figure out a way to defeat another starship, regardless of how much more technologically advanced it is?"

Hermione moved forward to stand in front of Spock – close enough to look up directly into his eyes, but still not close enough to touch.

"Mr. Spock, he destroyed your planet. But we can stop him from doing the same to Earth and to other planets. Please, we have to at least try. And Harry and I – we are on your side. We can do a lot with these," she said, pulling out her wand for emphasis and clasping it tightly in her hand.

Silence fell upon the Bridge as everyone considered Hermione's words. Kirk shot her an appreciative glance, feeling strange chills go down his spine as the tip of her wand glowed, as if eager to do something amazing.

Spock gave Hermione a long look, considering her words. "I understand your desire to go after that ship, given that your fiancé is on it."

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione in confusion. "M-my what?"

"Harry Potter. Is he not your fiancé?" Spock asked, indicating Hermione's ring.

"Um, no." At the reminder of Ron, she went from confident and determined to uncomfortable and sad in record time. "He's not. Ron is. Harry is my best friend. He's like a brother to me. He's my family," explained Hermione in a soft voice, then directed the topic back on track, "But that's not the only reason why I think that going after that ship is the right decision."

"Given our current circumstances, I deem it necessary for us to regroup with the rest of Starfleet," stated Spock neutrally. "As a Captain, I am obligated to look after the interests of my crew and ensure their safety. And while I believe that the crew of the _Enterprise_ is capable of performing admirably to fulfill any task I set before them, I cannot allow the pursuit of the _Narada_ at the moment."

"Spock, don't do that. It's a mistake!" Kirk insisted, still agitated.

Spock gave the flustered Kirk a hard look. "Mr. Kirk, I have made my decision," he said in a tone of finality.

He took a seat in the command chair and addressed the helmsman, "Mr. Sulu, plot a course for the Laurentian system, warp factor 3."

"Spock!" Kirk quickly followed Spock and halted right in front of him. "Running back to the rest of the fleet for a – a _confab_ is a massive waste of time!"

"These are the orders issued by Captain Pike when he left the ship –"

"He also ordered us to go back and get them!" Kirk countered. "Spock, you are Captain now. You have to make –"

"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mr. Kirk, and am instructing you to accept the fact that I _alone_ am in command."

"I will not allow us to go backwards, away from the problem –" Kirk exploded.

"Jim, he's the Captain!" McCoy interjected, trying to reason with his friend, before Jim did something he would regret.

"– instead of hunting Nero down!"

Hermione watched the exchange with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something bad was about to happen.

"Security, escort him out," commanded Spock, standing up, his tone hard.

Two red-shirted officers appeared on either side of Kirk, firmly grabbing him by the arms, as Kirk sent Spock a murderous glare. The security began forcibly escorting Kirk out, and then he suddenly wrestled himself out of their grip and punched one of the officers in the stomach. A fight broke out between them. Kirk, despite the fact that he was outnumbered, was holding his own.

"Enough, Jim!" McCoy's panicked voice halted Kirk for a fraction of a second.

His distraction was brief, but Spock took the opportunity to pinch a pressure point at the base of Kirk's neck. Kirk was instantly rendered unconscious.

"Get him off this ship," Spock ordered coldly.

The security moved to follow the Acting Captain's orders, and Spock turned around towards the command chair just in time to see a long mane of bushy brown hair disappear behind the sliding doors.

* * *

"Ms. Granger, where are you going?" inquired Spock, catching up to Hermione.

She walked fast down a corridor.

"The Medbay," she responded, not meeting his eye.

"The Medical Bay is located in the opposite direction," Spock stated matter-of-factly. "Allow me to escort you there."

Hermione stopped and turned to look at him, pressing her lips together. Spock remembered his mother and Nyota doing this when they were annoyed. He wondered if _he_ was the source of her annoyance.

"Why are you following me? Don't you have a ship to command?" she asked curiously, without any aggression.

She had been, most likely, annoyed with herself then. For getting lost on the _Enterprise_ , he presumed – which, by itself, was illogical. She was still a stranger here and could not possibly know where everything was.

"Mr. Chekov has the conn for now, and Captain Pike had ordered me to look after you before he left."

"I can look after myself," she insisted, turning to walk towards the Medbay. "You have other responsibilities and don't need to do that."

Spock followed her. "Ms. Granger –"

"Hermione. Just Hermione is fine. I mean, we were literally in each other's heads – for however brief period of time. So if you want to, you can call me Hermione."

It was logical.

Spock eyed her for a moment and nodded. "Please, call me Spock."

"Spock it is then," she said, giving him a thin smile.

They walked in silence that was interrupted only by the sound of their footsteps. A few crewmembers passed by, offering nods in greeting. Hermione's mind seemed to be preoccupied as a series of emotions flashed across her face.

"You look upset, Hermione," Spock observed.

"I'm fine," she lied feebly.

Spock paused to lift a skeptical eyebrow and to give her a penetrating look. He had never understood the human tendency to deny obvious facts.

" _Fine_ has variable definitions," he pointed out.

She stared at him for a few heartbeats, and then the corners of her mouth pulled up in an unmistakable smile.

"Have I said something amusing?" he inquired.

She shook her head. "No. I've just never met anyone quite like you."

He tilted his head to the side. "I could say the same about you."

She gave him another small smile and resumed her walk.

Hermione sighed. "The truth is, I'm not fine," she confessed, wrapping her arms around herself. "But, of course, you know that already. I feel utterly lost and worried out of my mind. My entire world was ripped away from me, and now the one person I have left, who is practically my brother, is on some giant, futuristic ship, risking his life. _Again_. He might be dead already for all I know!"

Spock once again, for the reasons unknown to him, reached for Hermione. His unconscious and very _human_ response to her pain was baffling.

She stumbled a step backwards. "Please, don't."

She might as well have slapped him.

"Forgive me, it was not my intention to frighten you."

"I'm not scared," she assured him hurriedly. "I'm just not sure I can put up my Occlumency shields to block you right now. I'm barely able to control my own emotions, I don't think I can handle yours as well."

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I'm not upset with _you_ , if that was what you thought earlier."

Spock was unsure why she'd assumed he had thought that and opened his mouth to voice his question.

But Hermione continued, "I'm sure you did what you thought was right and necessary. I don't pretend to even begin to understand the subtleties involved with your decision – this isn't my world. However, I can't help but _feel_ that the choice you've made, while it might not be necessarily wrong, isn't right either. It's . . . easy," she hesitated for a moment, remembering Dumbledore's words, and continued. "At the time when faced with the choice between what is right and what is easy, you've made the easy choice. Because you find logic easiest to follow."

"I do not understand. Vulcans are dedicated to logic and reason. We control our emotions so that we may act rationally. Logic, not feeling, is what guides us."

"I know how you feel, Spock. I felt it earlier, remember? From what I can tell, you aren't controlling your emotions, so much as you are ignoring them. And it isn't the same thing. Emotions are not meant to be ignored, especially not ones that run as deeply as yours. I know you are hurting, and it seems to me you think that by ignoring your emotions, your pain will go away. But that's a lie. You might eventually reach your breaking point and the consequences will be disastrous."

Spock furrowed his brow and canted his head to the side as he contemplated her words. "It is true that Vulcans feel very deeply, and that is precisely why we choose to embrace logic. However, I am half-human, and at times I struggle with my emotions, as you have noticed. How do you control your emotions?"

"It is something I had to learn how to do when I studied Occlumency," she answered, shrugging her shoulders.

"Occlumency?"

"It's the art of shielding one's mind from outside influence. In times like this, I've learned to not ignore my emotions, but acknowledge them, and channel them into doing something positive, something constructive."

"Is that why you insist on helping in the Medbay?" he inquired.

Hermione just nodded in answer.

He studied her for a moment, mirrored her nod, and then asked, remembering something, "May I ask a personal query?"

"That depends on the query."

"The memory that I saw. Were those your parents?"

"Yes," she answered, averting her gaze.

She turned and started walking once more. The subject was obviously too personal and too uncomfortable to talk about, and Spock immediately regretted asking the question to satisfy his curiosity.

"I apologize, I did not intend to upset you further," he said, falling into step beside her.

They walked in companionable silence, with Spock occasionally nudging Hermione in the right direction when she was about to make a wrong turn.

"Hermione," said Spock, breaking the silence, "I would like to offer you my assistance in understanding and learning more of this world. Or rather, this future. You have my eternal gratitude for saving not only my mother, but also the essence of Vulcan culture by saving the elders. I will help you in any way I can."

"Thank you, Spock," Hermione replied warmly.

"Ah, there you are," said McCoy to Hermione as he popped up around a corner. "I was wondering where you went. Still feel like helping me out in the Sickbay?"

At Hermione's nod, he turned to Spock.

"I can take it from here, Captain," he said respectfully, although Spock could detect a slight note of resentment – likely because he had ordered his friend ejected from the ship.

Spock nodded, and watched McCoy and Hermione leave for the Medbay, before turning to go back to the Bridge.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 7

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 – the Narada_**

Harry wasn't wrong when he guessed that more Romulans were on their way to capture them. As Pike categorically refused to Apparate unless it was absolutely necessary – he hated the feeling and being unable to properly defend himself for first couple of minutes afterward. Instead, they ran deck after deck, sometimes encountering dead ends and seemingly running around in circles, all the while firing at the Romulans and at any equipment they could target, and nearly getting injured in the process. Somehow, Pike and Harry reached an unspoken agreement to wreak as much havoc as they could while they were on the ship, in hopes of slowing down or stopping it. So far, the decks they have been on seemed to house the living quarters of the crew, a cargo bay full of some unfamiliar load, another mostly empty hangar bay, and a deck with what looked like science equipment – xenobiology, judging by the glass containers filled with pale blue liquid that had creatures suspended within it.

Finally, they were able to lose their pursuers and take cover in one of the service tunnels off the side of one of the decks. They didn't know how long they had been running for, but it must have been a while because the alarm had stopped blaring – the Romulans had probably gotten fed up with the sound of it as well. Only the blinking red lights all around the interior of the ship indicated that there still was a problem.

"So, what's the new plan?" inquired Pike, still breathing heavily. He sat down on the floor as Harry cast protective enchantments around the area.

"Well, first we need to send the message," Harry replied, after he finished with the spells and took a seat next to Pike. Christopher opened up his mouth to say something, but Harry continued, "I know we haven't got the shuttle anymore, but I have a way to do it anyway. I didn't suggest it earlier, because I thought that your way would be faster and more reliable. I have no idea whether my method will work or not."

"And what method is that?"

"A Patronus. It's a powerful defensive charm, but it can also be used for sending messages. I just wasn't quite sure how well it might work given the fact that we are in bloody space and travelling at this speed . . ."

"Yes, their warp drive is very advanced. Just like everything else on this ship, it seems."

"Warp drive?"

"It's the technology that allows space travel at faster-than-light speeds."

"We're travelling faster than light?" asked Harry, his tone disbelieving. Pike nodded in confirmation. "Bloody hell! Now I'm even less certain that the Patronus will get there. But I'll give it a go anyway. Just in case."

With that, Harry stood up and closed his eyes in concentration, focusing on a happy memory. He waved his wand and whispered, _"Expecto Patronum."_

A shining silver stag burst out of the tip of his wand, eliciting a gasp of awe and admiration from Pike. The animal circled around Harry once and came to rest in front of him, as if waiting for instructions. Harry and the stag looked at each other silently for a few moments, and then the stag took off, disappearing beyond the walls of the ship.

"That was . . . beautiful," Pike admitted. "Did you send the message?"

"Yes, I can communicate it non-verbally." Harry took a seat again. "So, it's sent. I wouldn't rely on it getting there, though. We should continue looking for the Red Matter."

"I don't suppose you have a spell that can just point us towards the Red Matter, do you?" asked Pike sarcastically.

"No, I'm afraid not," answered Harry in all seriousness. "There is the Four-Point Spell, which points the caster north. But again, we are in space, so . . ." he trailed off, putting the wand flat on the palm of his hand, and saying, " _Point Me._ " The tip of his wand spun and pointed to the right. "Huh. It works. I'm assuming that it's pointing to the north of the ship. At least, we won't be wandering around in circles. Hopefully."

Pike nodded, and asked curiously, "So, I'm assuming that not all witches and wizards possess these Legimilency skills, do they?"

"It's Legilimency," Harry corrected. "And you are right – proficiency in the mind arts is not very common. I could probably learn them if I really wanted to, but I had a bad experience with them when I was younger, so I never wanted to study them again. But Hermione . . . well, she's not known as the Brightest Witch of Her Age for nothing," he finished with a smile, pride for his best friend evident in his voice.

Pike shook his head and chuckled, "Brightest Witch, huh? Now, that's a phrase I never thought I'd hear."

Harry shrugged his shoulders and then conjured two glasses and filled them with water. He handed one to Pike, who accepted it gratefully. They both were parched – not only from being chased around the ship, but also from its elevated temperatures.

Pike said in all sincerity, "I love magic."

Harry smiled, "So do I."

After a few minutes of silence, during which they drank more water and just rested, Harry thought of a question to ask.

"Nero wanted some frequencies to disable Earth's defenses. What happens if he reaches the planet without them?"

"Well, I don't think he'll try it. If you haven't noticed, we are currently travelling at a slower warp speed than before."

Harry shook his head, for he didn't notice. He didn't have the experience that Pike did regarding travelling in space at warp speeds. He had no point of reference to help him determine which one was faster and which one slower.

"If Nero heads to Earth without the codes – which isn't entirely impossible, mind you, given his mental state – he'd be hit by strikes from remnants of the fleet and local planetary defenses, and his ship would be damaged. Given the advanced technology of the _Narada_ , I doubt that the Earth's defenses would be strong enough to destroy it, but they might cripple it. And our ground-based aircraft and missiles will take care of the drill, if Nero gets that far. But a lot of lives would be lost in the process. We've already lost six Federation ships with a lot of people on them . . ." Pike trailed off, closing his eyes.

"So, what you're saying is that we need to make sure that Nero doesn't get the frequencies from you and that this ship never reaches Earth, right?" summarized Harry after a pause.

"That would be ideal, yes."

"Okay, brilliant. Well, I could obliviate you – it's a charm that can erase those frequencies from your memory. That way, if they capture us, they won't be able to get them because you simply won't remember them. But you should know that it isn't completely foolproof. The memory charm can be broken through torture," Harry finished, shuddering.

Pike gave Harry a long look, contemplating what he had said.

"I'm not giving them the frequencies voluntarily. I'd rather die. But there are certain substances, like sodium thiopental, that can act as a truth serum. And given what we've seen of Nero, he's a sadist and an extremist. He seems to be the type to have something similar – or worse. This might have been a mining vessel, but it's equipped for war now. War against the Federation. I wouldn't put it past the Romulans to use whatever means necessary to obtain the information they need to achieve that goal. And if this spell of yours can help me not reveal that information while under the influence of a truth serum – then I say do it. After all, if they have to torture me, it would only buy us more time before help arrives . . . if it arrives at all," Pike finished, closing his eyes.

Harry nodded solemnly. But he was familiar with this brand of determined loyalty, so instead of making a big deal over it, he brought up a different topic.

"One more thing. I say we continue sabotaging the ship while we search for this Red Matter. However, there is a risk that we might accidentally blow it up . . . I mean, we don't know exactly what it looks like, other than the fact that it is supposedly red, and we have no idea where it's located. It may not be out in the open. It could be hidden anywhere. And if we accidentally blow it up . . ." Harry trailed off.

"There's a chance that a black hole, like the one that destroyed Vulcan, will be created and we'll die along with the ship," finished Pike.

"Exactly. The Patronus may or may not get to help. We might be on our own till the end, whatever it might be . . ."

"If I have to give my life to save countless others, then I'm ready for it," Pike said resolutely, looking Harry straight in the eyes. "When I joined Starfleet, I knew that it might be required of me one day. I enlisted in Starfleet because I believed in it, in the Federation, and everything they stand for. I stand by that belief to this day. The only thing I regret is that I dragged you into this with me . . ."

"Not like I haven't been in a similar mess before," Harry said quietly, sighing and closing his eyes. It seemed that the Fates were mocking him, placing him in another situation where he might have to die to save others. The irony of the circumstance wasn't lost on him, especially given Nero's similarities with Voldemort. Harry's survival the last time this had happened was nothing short of miraculous. He doubted that he'd be so lucky a second time. Nonetheless, he agreed.

"Let's do this then. Ready?"

Pike nodded.

"Think of those frequencies . . . _Obliviate._ "

* * *

"Prod Nero, we have detected an unfamiliar energy signature on the ship," reported Ayel, Nero's second-in-command, to his Captain. "It is like a magnetic field, but unfamiliar. It was detected earlier as well on Deck 47, shortly after the human Captain disappeared, and then again in the hangar. The weapon carried by the other human that was with that Captain seems to be the source of it."

Nero, who had been pacing the Bridge, anger mounting with every report of disaster regarding his crew and equipment, slammed his palm down onto the nearest console. Sparks flew out from it as he raged, "Why did it take so long for you to realize this?"

"Apologies, Captain, we have been trying to capture the humans. This magnetic field did not seem relevant at first. We thought that the ship itself might have been generating it, as the field was not very strong. After tracking the path of the energy signature, as well as that of the humans, we have found reason to believe that the two are connected."

Pike was right. The _Narada_ _used_ to be a mining vessel. It wasn't anymore. What Nero didn't tell Pike is that the ship, after the destruction of Romulus, had been taken to the Vault – a top-secret military facility and the rendezvous point for whatever remained of the Romulan fleet, the Empire's last chance. There, it had been retrofitted with experimental Romulan technology, in addition to salvaged and reverse-engineered technology from the Borg. These upgrades gave the _Narada_ enhanced warp capabilities, advanced weaponry, and a self-repairing nanotechnology that could anticipate threats and adapt the ship to face new challenges. This ability to adapt was responsible for the ship's relatively ugly appearance – it was a matter of function over form. It never stopped growing, adding new capabilities and areas to itself. It had become a Dreadnaught. Unfortunately for Ayel and his fellow crew members, this same technology was also the reason why the energy signature of Harry's wand had been so confusing – the ship was known to generate strange energy fields of its own volition.

"Where is the signature now?" snarled Nero, barely restraining himself from lashing out at someone.

"Deck 15 service tunnels."

"Go after it! Track that signature and kill the one who wields the weapon projecting it. I need Christopher alive. I need those frequencies!" Nero screamed, enraged that his plans were in danger of being thwarted by some humans, and that the _Narada_ had been made to slow down on its way to Earth. He began to pace again, clenching and releasing his fists.

"Yes, sir," said Ayel and walked away, throwing a cautious look at his captain.

As much as he respected Nero, as much as he held him in awe, he knew that his captain would not hesitate to kill him the instant he thought his trusted second-in-command might have faltered in his conviction toward their common purpose. Not to mention, their captain had been known to take out his rage on those around him. It was in Ayel's best interests to find those humans and find them quickly; otherwise, some of the crew members might pay the price.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 – Delta Vega, Vulcan system_**

Just when James Kirk didn't think that his day could get any worse, he got marooned on Delta Vega – a Class M frozen planet with nothing but empty skies, barren wastes of snow, and natural monuments of ice that stretched as far as the eye could see. He might as well have been dropped off in the heart of the Arctic on Earth, for all the difference it made.

No, scratch that. The Arctic would have been better. At least the Arctic didn't have the two creatures that Kirk had encountered shortly after leaving his escape pod.

First, he'd been attacked by a drakoulias – what looked to be a cross between a polar bear and a gorilla – that came charging right at him out of nowhere. Just as the drakoulias was gaining on him, paws pounding thunderously, the ice that their chase had just run across exploded upward and outward. Kirk went sprawling on the ground, and pieces of ice and packed snow rained down around him. He looked up, just in time to see a hengrauggi emerge from the newly made hole.

This new creature was red and monstrous, with three sets of limbs – two used for running and one was smaller, hand-like – and hundreds of eyes. Moreover, it had a strange tentacle-like appendage that extended from its mouth like a grasping whip.

The hengrauggi, having quickly dealt with the drakoulias, turned its attention to Kirk.

Kirk ran fast enough that he didn't notice the ground disappear from beneath his feet until he tumbled down the steep slope of a mountain. The monster squealed shrilly in frustration and, losing its footing, went flying after Kirk, flailing its many limbs in the process. By some miracle, Kirk managed to miss most of the protruding rocks as he fell and landed relatively intact. Hitting the bottom, he rolled to his feet and resumed running. Looking around frantically, Kirk spotted an entrance to a cave and headed towards it at full speed. The hengrauggi followed, smashing its way through ice and packed snow to chase him inside the cave. It gained on him, enough to wrap its whip-like protrusion around his leg, and began dragging him towards its mouth.

Becoming a meal to some many-eyed Delta Vega monstrosity was not what James Kirk had been expecting when he joined Starfleet on a dare from Pike.

 _Enlist in Starfleet. Do better than your father. That's right! Get eaten by a monster on Delta Vega, my ass!_ Kirk thought wildly, as he was dragged closer and closer to the creature.

Suddenly, a figure holding a blazing torch appeared, driving the hengrauggi away with the fire. Once the monster was gone, the figure turned to the disbelieving but greatly relieved Kirk. As his vision cleared and his heart rate settled, Kirk could see that his savior was a . . . Vulcan. A Vulcan named Spock, nonetheless. As in the Spock who had marooned him in the first place. Granted, this Spock was 129 years older, but nonetheless it was the 'pointy-eared bastard' himself.

 _Yep. Just when I thought that things couldn't possibly get any more unbelievable! Magic turns out to be real. Time travel is apparently a thing that happens. Crazy Romulans from the future can destroy an entire planet! And now there are two Spocks! I must be going out of my mind,_ Kirk thought, giving his head a shake.

The situation was so absurd – it was borderline hilarious. If the circumstances weren't so dire, Kirk might have found himself rolling around on the ground and laughing his ass off. As it was, laughing was currently as far on Kirk's mind as the _Enterprise_ was from the Laurentian system.

The older Spock – Spock Prime – turned out to be much nicer than the younger one. For one thing, Jim definitely didn't want to punch him or rip out his damn eyebrows – which were seemingly younger Spock's only means of expressing himself. After all, this Spock was in the same predicament himself. And the longer that Kirk talked to Spock Prime, the more he liked the older Vulcan, and could see how they could have easily been friends in another lifetime. Everything else made sense too, regardless of how impossible it seemed. In fact, the very notion of impossibility seemed to fade away.

 _Is there nothing that is impossible anymore?_ Kirk thought in amazement. It certainly seemed so. _Next thing I know, I'll be told that vampires, werewolves, dragons, and giants are real! Oh, and how about Santa Claus and elves?_

And then Kirk experienced something else that he had never experienced before – a Vulcan mind-meld. Kirk was still in the cave, but at the same time – he wasn't. He could see everything that the older Vulcan saw, he experienced everything that he experienced, and felt everything that he felt – fear, loneliness, tremendous pain, loss, despair, overwhelming guilt, just to name a few feelings. And Spock Prime's voice guided him through it all, providing him with explanations to everything.

When the connection was finally broken between them, Spock Prime closed his eyes in grief. Kirk, overwhelmed with the torrent of emotions, was gasping and physically shaking, with tears running down his cheeks.

"Forgive me," Spock said in a soft voice. "Emotional transference is an effect of the mind-meld."

"So, you do feel," gasped out Kirk, turning away from Spock.

"Yes," answered Spock simply.

"Going back in time, you changed all our lives." Kirk's tone was almost accusatory.

"And yet, remarkably, the events within our different timelines – characteristics, people – seem to overlap significantly. I am assuming that you were indeed on the _Enterprise_ before you were marooned, since you said that Pike was the Captain of the ship?" At Jim's nod Spock continued, "I cannot restrain my curiosity. Tell me about the rest of the crew. What of Chekov, Uhura . . .?"

"Tactical and communications."

"Sulu?"

"He's the helmsman."

"McCoy?"

"Bones just inherited responsibilities of a CMO." Kirk gave Spock an odd look. "Why?"

"Fascinating. It would seem that our meeting here is not simply a coincidence, but rather an indication of a higher purpose. That same crew emerged victorious many times when faced with crises. And it is faced with one right now."

Spock suddenly became purposeful, "Jim, we must go. There is a Starfleet outpost not far from here," and he turned towards the cave's exit.

"Wait!" Kirk suddenly exclaimed. "Where you came from, did I know my father?"

"Yes," answered Spock, turning towards Kirk again. "You often spoke of him as being your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become Captain of the _Enterprise._ "

"Captain," repeated Jim with a faint smile on his lips.

"A ship we must return you to as soon as possible," said Spock, tuning towards the exit of the cave once more.

"No, wait! Wait! Is this – is this your first experience time travelling and meeting time travelers?"

"No, it is not. However, I am reluctant to give you any information that could potentially alter your destiny."

"I understand that. Just – just can you tell me if in your timeline there ever was a witch by the name of Hermione Granger and a wizard, Harry Potter?"

"Jim, witches and wizards do not exist," answered Spock neutrally. If he thought that his old friend was going insane, he didn't show it in any way. "Magic is not real."

"But they do! It is! I have seen it! Hell, I have even felt it. Look, I know that it sounds completely unbelievable. Before today, if someone told me that magic was real, I would have sent them to Bones to get their head checked. But I know what I saw and felt. I just – I just wanted to find out if you have ever encountered Hermione or Harry . . ." Kirk trailed off, looking at Spock expectantly.

"No, I have not. They did not exist in my timeline, Jim."

"It's just all these time-travelers . . ." started Jim, giving his head a shake. "Romulans who obviously want to destroy the Federation . . . And now these magical people . . ."

"How far in the future are they from?" inquired Spock.

"They aren't from the future. They're from the past," clarified Kirk.

"Fascinating."

"Yeah, well, do you think I can trust them? I mean, I'm pretty sure I can, I just . . I don't know . . . they appeared out of nowhere . . ."

"Jim, humans, and you in particular, tend to trust in your feelings. It is a characteristic that has always been difficult for me to understand. Yet, in several cases, I have found that this tendency has proved fruitful. What does your heart tell you?"

Yes, this Spock was definitely different. Kirk could not imagine words like those ever coming out of younger Spock's mouth – he seemed way too logical. Kirk looked at Spock Prime in bewilderment for a moment, contemplating his question.

Finally, he answered, "That I can trust her. Yes, I can trust her," he repeated, nodding to himself, and then added hastily, "I mean, I think I can trust the wizard too, but I haven't really spent much time with him, you know? He went to the _Narada_ with Pike right after I met him."

"He did? Of his own accord?"

Kirk nodded and continued, "And she saved your mother. Jumped off the cliff after her while your planet was being destroyed and then somehow teleported them both back to the _Enterprise_ without the use of a transporter . . ."

"Fascinating."

"You know, you say that word a lot?"

"Indeed. I cannot help but notice that these witch and wizard have something in common with you. They seem to have a similar instinct to leap without looking. Few possess it."

Kirk laughed weakly, shook his head, and said, "You know, Pike told me the exact same thing, when he was recruiting me three years ago. He said that my father had that same instinct and dared me to do better than famous George Kirk . . ." he trailed off, sadness creeping up into his voice.

"Which is why we must go, Jim. I have one last word of advice, before we go. Although this timeline has much in common with mine, they are still very different. Your path is yours to walk and yours alone. Do not let what could have been hinder you. Your heart has led you well in my timeline, so trust it now."

"Trust my heart," Kirk repeated with a thoughtful look on his face. "I can do that," he confirmed with a nod and a small smile.

Spock mirrored the nod and turned around to walk away. They had to return Jim back to the _Enterprise_. They had a mission to accomplish.

* * *

Kirk and Spock Prime reached the Starfleet outpost in good time. There, they met Montgomery Scott and Keenser, who showed them to the only transporter on the planet. Mr. Scott – who turned out to be another of the people that Spock knew very well – was a brilliant, boisterous, and rather outspoken engineer who postulated the theory of transwarp beaming. However, his equation for achieving said transwarp beaming was incomplete, which, when first tested, had caused him nothing but problems. Said problems were how the engineer wound up assigned to such a remote and obscure outpost – officially, it was a transfer; unofficially, a punishment for losing Admiral Archer's pet beagle in a freak beaming accident.

Spock Prime proved capable of completing the equation and presented it to the engineer.

"Get out of it," Scotty muttered, as he sat down at the terminal to examine the equation.

After a few moments, his mouth fell open in incredulity and his eyebrows rose toward his hairline.

"Imagine that!" he exclaimed. "It never occurred to me to think of space as the thing that was moving."

"You are coming with us, right?" Kirk addressed Spock.

"No, Jim. That is not my destiny."

"Your des . . ." Jim controlled the urge to scoff and roll his eyes at the older Vulcan. "He . . . The other Spock is not gonna believe me. Only you can explain what happened –"

"Under no circumstances can he be made aware of my existence," Spock Prime interrupted. "You must promise me this."

"You are telling _me_ I can't tell _you_ that I'm following your own orders?" Kirk asked in disbelief. "Why not? What happens?"

"Jim, this is one rule you cannot break," was Spock's firm response.

Kirk then remembered the conversation on the _Enterprise_ just before he was marooned. "You can't be seen by your past self . . . Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time," Kirk repeated under his breath the words that Hermione had said earlier, nodding to himself and finally fully understanding what she meant.

Spock lifted a questioning eyebrow at this, to which Kirk said, "It – it's something that Hermione said earlier . . . when we asked her about time traveling . . . it's . . . it doesn't matter. I get it. I won't tell him."

Spock looked like he wanted to question Kirk further, but thought better of it, given their lack of time. Instead, he gave Kirk a nod and said, "Jim, to stop Nero, you alone must take command of your ship."

"How? Over your dead body?" asked Kirk sarcastically, in a very McCoy-like manner.

"Preferably not," responded Spock immediately. "However, there is Starfleet Regulation 619. Six-one-nine states that any command officer who is emotionally compromised by the mission at hand must resign said command."

"So, you are saying that I have to emotionally compromise you . . . guys," Kirk added the last bit uncertainly. Having two Spocks was a bit confusing.

"Jim, I just lost my planet," said Spock, grief evident in his voice. "I can tell you, I am emotionally compromised. What you must do is get me to show it."

"Aye then, laddie," interrupted Scott, getting up from the terminal, where he finished his calculations for beaming onboard the mid-warp _Enterprise_. "Live or die. Let's get this over with."

He then went to stand on the transporter pad – one very different from that on the _Enterprise_ – and his little alien friend, Keenser, followed him.

"No, go," Scotty nudged Keenser back from the pad. "You cannae come with me. Go on."

Kirk went to stand on the other side of the pad, separated from Scotty's by metal bars. He looked into Spock's eyes and said, "You know, coming back in time, changing history – that's cheating."

"A trick I learned from an old friend," answered Spock with a slight nod, barely missing a beat.

Jim's lips pulled up in a faint smile in response.

Spock activated the transporter and lifted a hand in a customary Vulcan farewell, "Live long and prosper."

The golden light of a transporter enveloped both Kirk and Scotty, and the next instant they found themselves on the engineering deck of the _Enterprise,_ facing yet another problem – Scott had been beamed inside the cylindrical coolant tank full of water.

Only Jim's quick thinking saved Scotty from drowning and being sliced up by the water turbine's sharp blades. Kirk ran to the nearest terminal, fingers slightly shaking as they danced around the screen, and activated the turbine release valve. The engineer, alongside a torrent of water, was dumped unceremoniously on the floor, where he coughed, expelling water from his lungs. Apart from being slightly bruised, battered, and completely soaked, Scotty seemed in relatively good shape.

They quickly made their way off the engineering deck, only to be intercepted by several security officers who had phasers pointed at them.

"Come with me, _Cupcake_!" one of them barked out.

 _Oh, you gotta be kidding me,_ groaned Kirk internally, as he recognized the voice and the man to whom it belonged – the one and only Lieutenant Hendorff.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 - U.S.S. Enterprise_**

Kirk remained calm and collected as he and Scotty were pulled along to the Bridge. Spock Prime must have been right about his/their emotionally compromised state, because it seemed pretty illogical for Kirk and Scotty to be escorted to the Bridge. If Spock was in his right mind, he would have ordered for them to be sent to the brig and then interrogated. Instead, Jim was being taken to exactly the place where he needed to be.

The doors slid open and Kirk and Scott were practically pushed inside the Bridge. Spock turned from where he was standing beside the secondary science station (he and Uhura were explaining certain terms and concepts to Hermione, who, having finished helping in the Medbay, was back on the Bridge to do more research) and walked quickly towards them.

"Who are you?" he addressed the engineer.

"I'm with him."

"He's with me," answered Kirk evenly.

"We are travelling at warp speed," stated Spock calmly. "How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?"

"Well, you're the genius, you figure it out," challenged Jim.

"As acting captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question," demanded Spock, and Kirk could see cracks starting to show in his ever-cool demeanor.

"Well, I'm not telling, _Acting Captain,_ " was Kirk's taunting response, as he kept his eyes firmly trained on Spock, who he could tell was fuming inside and was ready to burst.

"What, did . . . What now, that doesn't frustrate you, does it?" Kirk taunted him more, with a smile this time. "My lack of cooperation? That – that doesn't make you angry . . ."

"Are you a member of Starfleet?" Spock changed his attention to Scott, trying to ignore Kirk.

"I . . . um . . . yes," the engineer responded hesitantly. "Can I get a towel, please?"

"Under penalty of court martial, I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard this ship while moving at warp."

"Well –" started Scotty uncertainly.

"Don't answer him," commanded Kirk.

"You _will_ answer me," seethed Spock.

"I'd rather not take sides," said Scott, blinking and looking between Kirk and Spock.

"What is it with you, Spock?" interjected Jim, taking a step forward into Spock's personal space and narrowing his eyes at him. "Hm? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother almost murdered. Your whole _civilization_ was wiped out – and you aren't even upset . . ."

"If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken," Spock's tone was hard, but also a bit defensive.

"And yet, you're the one who said fear was necessary for command. I mean, did you see his ship? Did you see what he did?"

"Yes, of course, I did," replied Spock, his voice hitching.

"So, are you afraid or aren't you?"

"I will not allow _you_ to lecture _me_ about the merits of emotion."

"Then why don't you stop me?" Jim continued taunting him. He knew Spock was close to breaking, and he felt bad about having to do this – he really did. But Spock Prime himself had told him to do this, and he really didn't have much of a choice, given that the fate of Earth and the Federation was at stake.

"Step away from me, Mr. Kirk," Spock's tone was dangerous and infused with venom.

"Tell me," continued Kirk. "What's it like not to feel anger? Or heartbreak? Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of billions of Vulcans who were murdered in cold blood? You are now a member of the endangered species, Spock!"

"Back away from me –"

"You feel nothing!" Jim was shouting now, and his voice sounded too loud on the now quiet Bridge, where everyone was silently watching the exchange with shocked expressions. "It must not even compute for you! You don't love your mother or anyone else!"

That was it. Mentioning his mother – the only person who always accepted him for who he was without condemning him for his half-Vulcan/half-human heritage, the only person who always supported him in any circumstance, the only person who always seemed to understand him and love him no matter what – was a big mistake. Stating that Spock didn't love her was the last straw.

Spock charged at Jim with a roar and threw him backwards, showering down blow after blow that Kirk could barely block. Kirk was top of his class and the assistant instructor in advanced hand-to-hand combat; however, Vulcans were three times stronger than humans, and Jim really didn't stand a chance against Spock's fast, powerful, and rage-fueled strikes.

Finally, Kirk was thrown against a terminal at the helm of the ship, glass cracking beneath him, and Spock wrapped a hand around his throat. Narrowing his eyes, Spock tightened his vice-like grip, cutting off Kirk's supply of oxygen. Everyone on the Bridge stood frozen in shock, not daring to intervene for fear that the enraged Vulcan might turn his anger at them.

However, one person was not afraid. All this time she had been watching, waiting for the crew to intervene, since she was only a guest on the _Enterprise_. After all, wasn't a situation like this the reason why they employed security officers? Apparently not, for no one moved or did anything. So, she decided to take the matter into her own hands.

"Stop it! Can't you see you are killing him?! Stop it!" Hermione's shrill voice resounded throughout the Bridge as she stepped forwards, her wand tightly gripped in her outstretched hand in case she needed to act immediately.

Spock reflexively let go of Kirk, his rage fading quickly as the realization of what he had just done sank in. He stepped away from Kirk, who was gasping for air and struggling to stand up, and met Hermione's eyes. There was no judgement in them, only understanding and compassion, and he knew she understood his feelings, even though she didn't support his actions. This was exactly what she had warned him against earlier.

 _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had to do this. It wasn't out of spite, or malice, or revenge. I know how you feel. I am sorry,_ Jim thought, clutching at his throat and gasping for air, as he barely managed to remain on his feet. Though his face was bloody and bruised, Kirk felt no anger towards the one who inflicted the injuries.

Spock walked to where McCoy was standing and addressed him, looking down instead of at the doctor.

His voice slightly shook as he spoke, "Doctor, I am no longer fit for duty. By order of Starfleet Regulation Six-nineteen I hereby relinquish my command, based on the fact that I have been . . . emotionally compromised. Please, note the time and date in the ship's log."

He then turned towards the sliding doors, and with one last glance at Uhura, left the crew on the Bridge in tense silence.

Everyone still had shocked and solemn faces. That is – everyone, except for Scotty. He looked around at the brand new, bright and shiny Bridge, at the stressed out and tired faces of the young officers, and grinned like a nutter despite the fact that he was dripping wet and surrounded by security officers. He was on the _Enterprise_! And he arrived here by means of _transwarp beaming_! He was so full of joy and happiness over his suddenly realized dreams that everything else paled in comparison – even the fact that they were obviously in the middle of some kind of crisis, and the lad that he had brought with him had the gall to not only try, but also succeed in provoking the young Vulcan officer, and got nearly killed as a result. Scotty felt like he was a young boy again receiving a long-awaited and desired gift from Santa Claus.

"I like this ship!" he declared joyously, breaking the silence, arms still raised high in surrender. "You know, it's exciting!"

"James!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalized, ignoring the gleeful engineer, sparks flying out of her wand, tightly held in her hand. "What on Earth did you do that for? I could just hex you right now!"

Kirk looked at the agitated witch and her wand, and quickly raised his arms in surrender, saying, "Please, don't do that."

"I had to do this," he added quietly, his voice full of regret, as his eyes locked with hers, willing her to believe and understand him.

Hermione must have gotten the message, for her eyes softened at that admission.

Never relinquishing his gaze, Jim walked up to Hermione and put one hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze, "We are going after them."

There was no need to specify who 'them' were, as everyone understood exactly who Jim meant. Hermione nodded, conveying her support.

"And how the hell are we going to do that?" asked McCoy in exasperation. "We've got no Captain and now, thanks to you, no damn first officer to replace him."

"Yeah, we do." With a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Kirk purposefully walked towards the command chair and took a seat.

" _What_?" McCoy asked, stunned.

"Pike made _him_ first officer," Sulu stated, jabbing his thumb in Kirk's direction. "Hermione was there too, when he did." He looked to her for support.

"You gotta be kidding me," the doctor said in disbelief, looking between Sulu and Hermione, but she merely nodded in confirmation.

"Thanks for the support," said Jim, sounding slightly offended.

Uhura came up next to him. "I sure hope you know what you are doing, _Captain,_ " she said, her tone challenging, and walked back to her station to be at the ready.

"So do I," was Jim's quiet response.

He pressed a button on the arm of the command chair, opening ship-wide announcement channel, and spoke confidently, "Attention, crew of the _Enterprise_. This is James Kirk. Mr. Spock has resigned commission and advanced me to Acting Captain. I know you were all expecting to regroup with the fleet, but I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship that we believe to be headed for Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready for combat in ten minutes." He paused for a heartbeat. "Either we're going down – or they are. Kirk out."

* * *

 **A/N. A special thank you to my reader _twztdwildcat_ for letting me bounce some ideas off for this, as well as next three chapters! That was very helpful. Thank you!**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

 ** _~ This chapter is humbly dedicated to the memory of Anton Yelchin ~_**

 ** _(1989-2016)_**

* * *

Chapter 8

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 – the Narada_**

No sooner had Harry finished obliviating Pike than about a dozen heavily-armed Romulans came charging towards them, rifles and disruptors ready to fire. However, thanks to the protective enchantments, the Romulans clearly couldn't see Pike and Harry. Instead of attacking, they stood there, faces contorted in confusion, looking back and forth from the surrounding area to their tricorder-like devices. One of them gesticulated wildly and spoke something in Romulan, but they were all clearly thrown by the discrepancy between their sensors and their own eyes.

Harry knew it was unwise to try to engage this many Romulans who were armed to the teeth. Instead, he grabbed Pike by the arm and said, "I'm sorry, sir, but we've got to Apparate."

They disappeared with a loud crack, leaving even more puzzled Romulans in their wake, and reappeared in the tunnel they had previously occupied on Deck 47.

"How did they find us?" wondered Harry. He looked around, checking to make sure that they were alone, and prepared to set up his protective enchantments around the area again.

"Don't do the protective spells," said Pike quickly. He seemed to be getting more used to Apparition, judging by his less severe reaction. He had his hands on his knees, trying to breathe his way through a bout of dizziness and slight nausea.

"You were right. It's getting somewhat easier to Apparate," he said, straightening up and meeting Harry's eyes. "And to answer your question, they might be tracking your wand. It gives off an energy signature when you use it. Chekov could detect it earlier on the _Enterprise_ , remember?"

"Right, forgot about that. Well, I'll just have to make their job more difficult then," Harry grinned, and then said, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Ten identical silvery stags burst out of the tip of his wand and halted right in front of him. After a moment, they all took off in different directions.

"A diversion," Harry explained to Pike. "My Patronuses should emanate the same energy signature. It should confuse the Romulans and buy us more time."

"Very clever, Harry. Well done," said Pike.

"Thanks," beamed Harry. "I suppose we'd better continue with our mission. I'm going to cast a silencing charm on our feet, and we can both fit under the invisibility cloak . . ."

"Won't they be able to track us by this silencing charm and the cloak?"

"I can't guarantee it, but I'm fairly certain that they won't be able to," answered Harry, waving his wand to cast the silencing charm. "This is no ordinary invisibility cloak . . ."

Harry trailed off as he heard footsteps approaching them with incredible speed. He quickly threw the invisibility cloak over himself and Pike. They disappeared just in time – only a moment later, three Romulans rounded the corner and headed straight toward where they were standing.

Ayel, who was heading the group, halted suddenly to take a closer look at the device in his hands. The other two Romulans stopped as well, and turned to look at Ayel questioningly.

"Is there a problem, General?" one of them, by the name of Onel, inquired.

"They have disappeared again," Ayel responded with irritation.

He pressed some buttons on his tricorder, brow furrowing deeper and deeper as he took in the readings. He muttered a few low curses.

"And now they are seemingly in ten different places at the same time on this ship!" he said, now lightly hitting his device in hopes that it was merely malfunctioning – but the readings stayed steady.

"Do you think that there are more of them?" the other Romulan, by the name of Rael, asked.

"I doubt it. If more had boarded the ship at the same time as the human Captain did, we would have known about it by now. They would not hide, only to show up now. They would have joined in damaging our ship long ago. And none in this time possess the technology necessary to board our ship while we are travelling. There must only be two of them, I am certain of it."

"How are they generating this magnetic field in several places at the same time? And how are they disappearing into the thin air?"

"I do not know!" responded Ayel, his anger mounting. "Perhaps they have some sort of portable beaming device –"

"A transporter that produces sound, rather than light?"

"I told you, _I do not know_!"

"Can we not track them by their heat signature?" asked Onel. "It is different from ours –"

"Do you think I have not already considered it?" exploded Ayel. "The control necessary for fine-tuning that particular sensor was one of the first things that was destroyed by those pathetic humans."

"Maybe we underestimated them," Onel voiced his thoughts out loud, clearly not knowing when to shut up. "Maybe they are not as pathetic as we thought –"

Onel did not get to finish his sentence, as Ayel had thrown his device onto the floor in order to grab him by the throat. Ayel roared and slammed him into the nearest wall.

"Shut your mouth if you wish to keep your tongue!" Ayel shouted.

He relinquished his hold on Onel a moment later, breathing heavily from his outburst. He deliberately calmed himself, saying, "Be grateful Nero was not the one to hear this. You would be dead already."

Ayel then slammed his foot down onto the discarded device, completely shattering it, and turned on his heel to quickly walk away. He narrowly avoided colliding with the cloaked forms of Pike and Harry, who held their breaths for fear of being discovered. Rael and Onel trailed after him.

Harry waited until he couldn't hear them anymore and whispered to Pike, "I guess that answers your question, sir, doesn't it?"

Harry and Pike couldn't understand what had been said between the three Romulans, since the exchange had been entirely in Romulan, but it was clear that Ayel's device had been unable to detect Pike and Harry under the cloak, even with the silencing charm cast on their feet.

"That it does," Pike whispered back, astonished. "And it's Christopher. Or Chris. No need for formalities here, Harry. We are in this together, as equals," he finished with all sincerity.

"A-alright, Chris," said Harry, slightly taken aback. "But even if they can't detect us under the cloak, we should still keep on the move. I know they will be able to track us every time I use my wand, but if we're careful enough, we can continue sabotaging the ship – and hopefully, find the Red Matter. And we might just stay in one piece during the process, given that they have my Patronuses to track as well . . ."

"I trust you, let's do this."

With that, they noiselessly headed out of the tunnel and continued their search for the Red Matter, as well as vital parts of the ship that were vulnerable to explosions, and unsuspecting crew members to incapacitate. Ship-wide announcements in Romulan blasted over the intercom every now and again, presumably informing the crew to be on the lookout for the humans that had yet to be found. The only indication of their whereabouts was the path of destruction they were leaving behind. However, the announcements stopped soon enough, after Harry unknowingly blew up the controls responsible for the intercom system, just as he had done to the body-heat detection array. The Romulans were reduced to speaking through communicators.

Eventually, Pike and Harry arrived at what resembled an engineering deck. Harry promptly sent some _Confringos_ and _Reductos_ at the equipment pointed out to him by Pike, causing an explosion that would make even Seamus Finnigan proud. A moment later, all hell broke loose.

The alarm blared pointlessly in the background as the ship abruptly halted. The _Narada_ came out of warp so quickly that everything was violently tossed around – including people. Pike – who had been standing guard while Harry was destroying the equipment – stood closest to the edge of the deck's platform. When the ship jolted, he was thrown over the edge to land far below on another platform, completely unconscious. Harry flew sideways and crashed into a wall, his head and arm both hit severely, and collapsed onto the floor a moment later, invisibility cloak no longer covering him entirely. He barely managed to move enough to avoid being crushed by a large, metal tube that fell from above – only to have other pieces of debris rain down on him. One piece hit him painfully on the head, and everything went black.

* * *

"Captain Nero, the ship's intercom system has been disabled," reported Nero's communications officer.

Nero punched the command chair in anger, as he yelled, "I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!"

By now, he knew that it wasn't Pike who was causing all this damage – no one could do this with a single phaser. The ship had lost power on several decks, as well as its transporter and cloaking abilities. Several sensors were disabled, making it difficult for them to track the intruders. The _Narada's_ tractor beams also were not functional. If they didn't find the humans soon – or at least the human responsible for all this damage – they would run the risk of losing the ship completely, if only temporarily, until the vessel could repair itself. But such repairs would take time – and time was a luxury Nero could not afford any longer.

"Have you located them yet?" demanded Nero.

"Negative, sir," reported another crew member. "We are doing our best to track the energy signatures, but so far all we have found are animal-based holographic projections of some sort in various locations on the ship. I have been attempting to track the path of destruction left behind the humans. If my calculations are correct, they are getting close to the engineering deck."

Panic replacing rage, Nero determinedly turned to leave the Bridge, "I am going after them myself. Inform the crew members looking for our ' _guests_ ' to go to engineering, immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Nero never made it to the engineering deck. The sheer size of the ship slowed him considerably. By the time he was almost there, the _Narad_ _a_ dropped out of warp, and Nero was tossed headfirst into a terminal. He lost consciousness. When he came to, he was informed that Christopher Pike had been found, unconscious, on the deck below engineering. There was no sign of the other human, except for a strange-looking stick found in the wreckage of the engineering deck.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 - U.S.S. Enterprise_**

He was gazing unseeingly out of the window on the observation deck, which was currently mercifully empty, his hands clasped behind his back. Thanks to the connection that he had with Amanda and Sarek, he felt, rather than heard them walk through the doors.

"Spock! There you are," spoke Amanda, concerned.

Spock half-turned his body to see his parents – his mother, with worried expression on her face, and his father, who, just like Spock, had both of his hands clasped behind his back, his face devoid of any emotions.

"We've been looking for you ever since we heard that announcement. Nyota sent us a message about what happened," she looked expectantly at her son, waiting for him to say something.

"Speak your mind, Spock," prompted Sarek, when Spock failed to respond, merely continuing his long stare out the window.

"That would be unwise," murmured Spock.

"That which is necessary is never unwise," said Sarek firmly.

"I am as conflicted as I once was as a child," Spock admitted after a slight pause, closing his eyes. "The human and the Vulcan in me battle for dominance – my emotions and my logic. I can never be without one or the other."

"Oh, Spock," Amanda stepped forward, taking her son's hands into hers and turning him to face her. "You are trying to be someone you are not. You are a child of two worlds, and always will be. Embrace it."

" _Acknowledge your emotions, don't ignore them,"_ Hermione's words came to his mind.

"I feel anger for the one who took our home away from us and murdered our people," said Spock, raw pain evident in his voice. "An anger I cannot control."

"Then do not try to. Use that anger against him." At Spock's confused look, Amanda continued, "The crew is going after him, and they will need you. You need to do this together. You need each other. It's the only way you will beat him – together."

" _In a time like this you need to not ignore your emotions, but acknowledge them, and then channel them into doing something positive, something constructive,"_ Hermione had said earlier.

He had been mistaken to think that throwing himself into commanding the ship and taking it to the Laurentian system was the appropriate outlet for his suppressed emotions. He needed to go in the opposite direction – not away from Nero, but toward him. Toward the one responsible for the genocide of his species.

Spock gazed at his mother for a moment, grateful for her presence here, for her unwavering faith in him, and for her unconditional love towards him. He then nodded and briefly embraced her, before turning to leave.

"Spock," his father's voice stopped him in his tracks. "I know that I have never said this, since it is not customary in our culture. But I am grateful for you."

Spock was somewhat startled by his father's unexpected admission, and turned to look at him. Vulcan children were all vaguely aware that they were precious to their parents, even if only because it was logical to be protective of one's offspring, and because the identity of a parent was partially constructed by their children. However, Sarek's statement was spoken directly, without any logical rhetoric, and almost – almost – with emotion. And therefore, it was different. To hear that his father was grateful for Spock was the same as hearing his mother say, "I love you."

Something snapped inside of Spock and a huge weight fell off his shoulders. He felt lighter and was now full of determination. He took one last look at his parents, nodded, and purposefully strode out of the observation deck. He had a Romulan to hunt down.

* * *

"Anything from Pike and Potter?" inquired Kirk, glancing at his communications officer.

"No, sir," responded Uhura, as she approached a small cluster of senior officers gathered around a terminal in an urgent strategy session. "I've been monitoring all channels and frequencies, and there is nothing."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Kirk, now turning to Sulu. "Can we catch up to them?"

"Not a chance," answered the helmsman. "We've already wasted enough time going on a detour to the Laurentian system. And even if we didn't, they are travelling a lot faster than us. Like Chekov said earlier, they would have to drop out of warp for us to catch up to them . . ."

At this moment, the excited Russian himself made his way towards the group from where he had been working at one of the tall translucent digital screens at the back of the Bridge, practically bouncing as he went.

"Keptin Kirk! Keptin Kirk! Nero's ship dropped out of varp!" he exclaimed happily.

"Where are they, Chekov?" Kirk's expression changed rapidly from pensive to hopeful.

Chekov pulled up the image on the terminal around which the group was gathered, and declared, "Ze exact coordinates are 47-23-18-34, sir."

"But there's nothing nearby," noted Sulu, looking at the screen in confusion. "It doesn't make sense why they stopped there. They aren't even in the Sol system."

"Unless they didn't do it on purpose," spoke Hermione, coming to join the group. Upon seeing the confused looks directed at her, she responded simply, "Harry."

Relief was evident in her features. Harry was alive!

"You mean _he_ stopped the ship? How?" Kirk asked in astonishment.

"I told you, a lot can be done with these," she answered, pulling out her wand, a small smile gracing her lips. "A few well-placed _Reductos_ , _Bombardas,_ and _Confringos_ would do the trick."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Kirk couldn't help but smile back as he shook his head.

"And whatever the hell are you talking about now?" McCoy asked in exasperation.

"Variations of the Blasting Curse. You know, to cause explosions, blow things up, and reduce them to ashes?"

"Wow! You can do zat viz a simple stick? I mean, vand!" Chekov was in awe.

Hermione just nodded in response.

"You people are scary, you know that?" commented McCoy. "Remind me to never piss you off."

"If Potter can do all that, why didn't he do it sooner?" interjected Sulu.

"I don't know. Maybe he couldn't. I mean, that ship is huge. It might have taken them a while to find the right thing to destroy in order to stop it. Or, something else happened . . ." Hermione trailed off, furrowing her brow, tone slightly worried.

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" Kirk said. "He did it now, it's all that matters."

He turned to Scotty, who appeared behind his shoulder, dressed in the red of operations bearing the dual silver rank bands on his sleeves – one thick and one thin, representing Lieutenant Commander – and having sourced a towel from somewhere to dry himself off.

"Mr. Scott, can you get us to warp factor 4? We need to get there ASAP."

"Aye, Captain," replied Scotty confidently. "I can do that. I'll get to work on it right away."

With that Scotty left for the engineering deck, eager to get his hands on the _Enterprise'_ s 'ample nacelles.'

"I foresee a complication though," pointed out Sulu. "Their sensors will detect us, and we'll be dead before we can fire a single torpedo at them."

"A direct confrontation is out of question," agreed Kirk. "We need to remain unseen, infiltrate their ship, and get the black hole device along with Pike and Potter."

"How can we remain unseen? There is absolutely nowhere to hide."

"I can help with that," said Hermione confidently.

"How?" asked Kirk.

"Fidelius Charm. It's a very powerful spell that can be used to conceal a secret inside a single person, or a Secret Keeper. It is usually used to protect a location. The structure or object protected by this spell at a specific location is invisible, intangible, unplottable, and soundproof. And no one will be able to find out about it, unless the Secret Keeper voluntarily divulges the information. Pavel, you mentioned some coordinates to specify the location of Nero's ship?"

"Y-yes?" the Russian responded uncertainly.

"If you could give me the coordinates of where you think the _Enterprise_ would be after we . . . erm . . . drop out of warp," it sounded so strange for her to say this, "I could cast the Fidelius Charm on this ship with that location in mind, and as soon as this ship reaches those coordinates, it will become invisible to the enemy in every way."

Silence greeted Hermione's words, as everyone stared at her in awe. She was getting a bit uncomfortable with it, and she started hesitantly, looking at the faces around her, "I mean, I thought it was a good idea, but if you don't think so –"

"No! No, that's a great idea!" exclaimed Kirk. "Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov, can you calculate the exact coordinates of where we would make a full stop – still close enough to beam aboard their ship, but not so close that they will have time to attack us, since we will be visible to them until we reach those coordinates."

"Aye Captain!" responded Sulu.

"Aye, Keptin! But zere iz anozer problem. Zey can still track our plazma exhaust, residual anti-protons, and energy distortions geneerated by our ship. Zey might think we haff some kind of cloaking technology – you know, where it iz still possible to bump into ze cloaked structure – and fire in our general vicinity. Will we get hit?" Chekov looked at Hermione expectantly, waiting for answer.

"No," Hermione replied confidently. "Fidelius Charm works in a such way that it not only hides the object from being seen, but it warps the reality to compensate for the object's absence. The object is simply not there. Unless, of course, the location of it is disclosed by the Secret Keeper. It's hard to explain. The laws of physics don't apply to it."

"Indeed," agreed Sulu, impressed, as he and Pavel left to make calculations and run simulations.

"How big of an object can you hide with this . . . um . . . charm?" asked Kirk.

"Well, I have never used it on anything bigger than my parents' new property, which is fairly large . . . But I am confident that I can hide this starship with it. I wouldn't try on something the size of Nero's ship, though. The _Enterprise_ is smaller, right?"

"Many times."

"Then it will work."

Kirk nodded and then asked, "What do you need, so you can get this done?"

"Just my wand, the coordinates, and a Secret Keeper."

"Can you have two?" asked Kirk worriedly, glancing at Sulu and Chekov, who were hard at work at their terminals.

"Um, I'm not sure. To my knowledge, it has never been attempted before. I think that whoever finds those coordinates first should be the Secret Keeper and then tell the other. I mean, he can reveal it to as many people as he wants, he just has to do it voluntarily."

"That's great!" Kirk excitedly rubbed his hands together.

"And I just have to review a few things," said Hermione.

She pulled out her locket and opened it to take out her miniature beaded bag. She enlarged the bag, and non-verbally summoned her copy of the _Advanced Book of Spells_ from its depths.

"Just to make sure," she said, beaming, as she held the book to her heart.

"How did you . . . how did a book that size get into that bag? I mean, I saw you put Potter's clothes in there earlier . . ."

"Undetectable Extension Charm. Very useful. I can store a lot of things in this little bag," she said smiling.

At that moment, a ball of pure white light suddenly burst through the view screen and slowly moved towards the center of the Bridge, where it morphed into a silvery white stag. A few people shrieked in shock.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, dropping the book she was holding in surprise.

The stag, as if hearing her voice, walked towards her and began to speak with Harry's voice, _"Hermione, I_ _'m sorry to ask this of you, but we need your help. Nero is on his way to Earth, and after that, he plans to destroy all the other Federation planets. He used something called 'Red Matter' to destroy Vulcan, and Pike and I are currently looking for it in hopes of disabling it before this ship reaches Earth. However, we don't really have a method of getting this information directly, so we're currently wandering around this ship blindly. We'll try and do our best to stop or slow down this ship. I don't know how, but you need to get here, or a lot of people will die."_ There was a slight pause, and then, _"I'm sorry to put you in danger again. I love you."_ And the stag disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

Tense silence settled on the Bridge. Astonished faces looked to the place where the stag was, then at Hermione, then at each other, trying to figure out if they had finally reached the point where they'd all officially gone mad.

"Just to confirm that I am not going crazy – did everyone else see that stag speaking with Potter's voice?" asked Uhura, dumbfounded, rubbing her eyes.

Several people nodded in confirmation.

"No, Nyota, you are completely sane. That was Harry's Patronus," explained Hermione, bending down to pick up her fallen book.

Kirk beat her to it. He offered her the book, and their fingertips brushed as she took it. A jolt of electricity went through Kirk. He blinked at Hermione in confusion, his thoughts wandering completely off the situation at hand.

"Thank you, James," Hermione said, bringing Kirk back to the Bridge.

"Um, you're welcome," responded Kirk, forcing his thoughts back to the present.

"So, your first name is Nyota?" Kirk addressed Uhura, slightly gleeful at finally having discovered his communications officer's first name.

"Indeed, it is, Captain," confirmed Spock, who had appeared on the Bridge at the same time as the Patronus' manifestation. Everyone had been too busy observing the unusual phenomenon, and had thus failed to notice the Vulcan quietly standing by the doors and taking in this new development.

Shocked stares followed Spock, as he moved fluidly through the Bridge and came to stop in front of Kirk and Hermione.

"Captain, I would like to submit my candidacy for your away team to the _Narada._ "

"No, Spock, I won't allow you to do that."

"Vulcans and Romulans share a common ancestry," Spock said simply, with nothing in his tone indicating that any hostility had ever existed between them. "Our commonality will make it easier for me to access the ship's computer and locate the Red Matter. Also, my mother is human, which makes Earth the only home I have left."

Kirk met Spock's gaze – there was no trace of that anger, which only a while ago had been seething and fermenting underneath Spock's calm exterior like poison, consuming him from the inside. Instead, Spock looked determined, professional, and full of renewed purpose. Kirk understood that Spock felt a personal need to go on the mission, in order to resolve his pent up anger against the one who destroyed his home planet. After all, Kirk was planning to go on the _Narada_ for much the same reasons – for closure, and to bring his father's murderer to justice.

"I'm going as well," declared Hermione.

"No!" Kirk and Spock said at the same time and exchanged startled looks.

"You heard Harry, he needs me there!" Hermione insisted, ignoring the duo's simultaneous response and slightly puzzled looks.

"Hermione, I think that you should stay on the _Enterprise_. Your assistance may be required here," Spock, the logical one, explained. "If I am to be on the away team, I can fulfill Mr. Potter's request in your stead."

"I understand that, Spock. But you are forgetting one important detail. Assuming that Harry and Captain Pike are both alive and not captured by the time we get there," her voice shook ever so slightly as she said this, "you won't be able to find them without me. Since Harry managed to stop the ship, the next logical step would be to continue searching for the Red Matter quietly, without attracting too much attention to themselves. For Harry that would mean not using his wand, since the sensors can detect it. That would leave one option, which is the use of the cloak of invisibility. It is magical, yes, but it is also one of the Deathly Hallows –"

"Deathly what?" Kirk interrupted incredulously. "That doesn't sound very –"

"Not now, James," Hermione admonished. "As I was saying, it is one of the Deathly Hallows and operates differently from other magical objects, and therefore it should be invisible to their sensors. Harry and I over the last two years have also worked on ways to make the cloak completely undetectable by any magical means. We were successful. But we also built in a fail-safe – a spell of our own invention that allows only a handful of people to track the cloak. I am currently the only one who will be able to find them on that ship."

"Your logic is sound," conceded Spock, nodding and looking between Hermione and Kirk. "And if I am to be looking for the Red Matter, we would need at least one more person to locate and bring back Captain Pike and Mr. Potter."

Kirk sighed, threw up his arms, and said in exasperation, "Fine! Fine, you can go. But I'm coming with you two as well," he declared with the tone of finality.

Spock considered this for a moment, and said, "I would cite Regulation, but I know that you will simply ignore it."

Kirk suppressed a grin, a small smile still escaping his lips, "See? We are getting to know each other," he said, slapping Spock on the shoulder, as he strode past him.

There was work to do – spells to cast, calculations to make, plans to finalize.

* * *

"Jim, a word, please?" said McCoy as he approached Kirk, who was working at one of the terminals, reviewing the data and finalizing their plans.

"Go ahead, Bones," responded Jim distractedly, never taking his eyes off the screen as he continued to tap away at it with his deft fingers.

"Are you sure about all of this? I mean, this whole thing is beyond insane."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of that going on today."

"Yes, but hiding a damn starship with a spell?"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but we really don't have any other option right now, do we? And I trust her."

"Trust her? Jim! You barely know her!"

"I know, Bones, I know. I can't explain it. I just have this gut feeling that I can trust her."

"I don't know . . . You sure the feeling isn't somewhere below the gut?" asked McCoy, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Kirk finally took his eyes off the terminal to look at his friend, then rolled his eyes at him, "Bones, it's not like that, okay?"

"Sure, it isn't," the doctor didn't sound convinced. "What if this spell doesn't work and Nero blows us all up to the next century?"

"It'll work," Kirk said confidently, looking the doctor straight in the eyes. "She looks like she knows what she's doing, so I'll just trust her on that."

McCoy sighed, "She sure knows how to use that wand of hers, I'll give you that. And she's a very nice person, but this whole magic thing is making my head spin."

"Trust me, Bones, I know what you mean. Half of the stuff she talks about goes right over my head. But I know that she won't do anything to harm or put anyone in danger here. I just know it. If she said she can do it, then I believe her. If you don't trust her, then trust me, okay?"

"It's not that I don't trust her . . . It's just . . . You know me – I tend to be rather skeptical. And magic? It isn't supposed to be real!"

"Yeah, I know. It'll be alright, Bones," said Kirk with a faint smile, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

His gaze suddenly shifted towards the doors of the turbolift, which opened up with a hiss to admit Hermione and Chekov.

The Russian, being the Secret Keeper, went with the witch for the casting of the Fidelius Charm. Seeing that they were back, the task must have been completed. Something didn't feel right, though. Hermione looked rather pale, and Chekov had one arm around her waist as he guided her towards her chair.

Kirk quickly made a beeline for them, McCoy trailing behind him.

"What's wrong?" Kirk asked, concerned.

"Nothing's wrong, James," Hermione responded weakly, as she pulled out a vial of something from her magical bag and took a drink.

"Bullshit. You don't look so good . . ."

"You know, James, it's always _so lovely_ to see you –"said Hermione sarcastically.

"Seriously though, what happened?" interrupted McCoy, who had already pulled out a small bioscanner out of his pocket and was back in 'doctor' mode. "You vitals are way off."

"Nothing happened. Pavel and I have cast the Fidelius Charm – it just took a lot out of me."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Kirk.

"Well, I must have slightly underestimated the size of this ship. You see, there's only so much magic one can use all at the same time. It isn't limitless. You eventually have to rest and recuperate. And casting a Fidelius charm, which is a rather complex spell, on an object this size is like performing a very vigorous workout for a prolonged period of time. I'm just slightly out of energy," explained Hermione.

"There's no way I'm letting you go on that ship –"

"James –"

"No. You stay here to rest and recover," said Kirk with the tone of finality. "Spock and I will find Pike and Potter. Somehow."

"James –"

"No!"

"James Tiberius Kirk!" exploded Hermione, her hair crackling with electricity. "Would you just shut it for a moment and listen?"

Kirk was stunned to silence and Hermione continued, her features softening, "We need to work together, and not argue like this. Without me, it will take you a lot longer to find Harry and Captain Pike. And time is something we don't have an abundance of. This whole mission might fail if you linger there longer than necessary and a lot of people will die. I just took an Invigoration Draught, so I'll be fine. I'll just have to be careful how much magic I use for the time being. That's all. And I _am_ going over to that ship and _no one_ can stop me, because Harry needs me!" finished Hermione defiantly, crossing her arms on her chest.

Kirk gave her a long look, and said softly, sighing in defeat, "You truly are a family."

"Family is not always just blood, James," said Hermione gently.

Kirk nodded. Of course, he knew that. After all, Christopher Pike was like a father to him, despite the fact that he was not even remotely related to Jim.

Thinking about his mentor in danger on Nero's ship brought back Kirk's focus, as he said sternly, "You are very stubborn, you know that?"

"So are you, _Captain,_ " responded Hermione, not even missing a beat.

It was the first time that Hermione called him 'Captain.' Kirk had no idea why, but somehow, hearing the title coming from her was different, more special, right. Kirk grinned at her despite himself, and, needing to shake off the odd sudden feelings, turned to leave. They would be in position soon, and he wanted to finalize a few more things. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was starting to really like this witch.

* * *

" _Main transporter room, we are in position at the exact coordinates,"_ Sulu informed.

"Really? Fine job, Mr. Sulu. Well done," responded Scotty, pleasantly surprised, as the doors of the transporter room hissed open and Kirk, Spock, Uhura, McCoy, and Hermione walked through them.

"How are we Scotty?" asked Kirk.

"Unbelievably, sir, the ship is in position. And we're still alive. I cannae believe I'm saying this, but that _spell_ is working!"

Kirk took over Scotty's communications, paused for a moment, carefully considering what he was about to say, and reopened the channel to the Bridge.

"Mr. Sulu, if things go south, you fire on that ship, even if we are still onboard. And then you haul ass out of here as fast as Engineering can push the engines," Kirk said, glancing at Scotty.

By now, having analyzed what information they were able to gather in those few minutes before the destruction of Vulcan, they knew that the Red Matter was extremely volatile and able to create a black hole, if ignited.

"That's an order."

" _Yes, sir."_

"Otherwise, we'll contact the _Enterprise_ when we're ready to be beamed back."

" _Good luck."_

Kirk didn't know what to say in response, so he said nothing, and followed Spock and Uhura to the transporter pad. It took him a few seconds to realize that the two were having what could be described as 'a moment.' They were standing very close to each other, foreheads touching, as they exchanged a whispered conversation between them. Then Uhura reached up and gave Spock a kiss, to which the Vulcan responded. Kirk stared in bewilderment at this open display of affection and then turned to look at Bones and Hermione, who were still standing by the doors and quietly talking about something, while the doctor was running a tricorder over the witch one last time and giving her some of his own injections to boost her energy levels after casting the Fidelius Charm.

McCoy, despite his skepticism regarding magic, seemed to have taken a liking to the witch. She was helping him in the Medbay earlier, and the doctor was very impressed with her skills, intelligence, and with how fast she was picking everything up. Besides, even though he himself would never admit it, Bones was a highly compassionate person, who deeply cared for those entrusted to him. Simply because she was on his ship, he had begun to feel personally responsible for Hermione's well-being as well.

McCoy finally finished with whatever he was doing and stowed away his medical equipment into his medkit.

"As soon as you get back, you are to go straight to the Medbay and stay there until I allow you to leave," instructed McCoy sternly. "And no complaining!"

"Yes, sir!" Hermione smiled, as she mock saluted him.

Then she suddenly gave him a hug, which McCoy hesitantly returned. He clearly didn't expect this, if dumbfounded look on his face was any indication.

"Thank you – for everything," she said earnestly.

"Er . . . You're welcome. Just doing my job, darlin'," replied McCoy, as Hermione pulled away.

He didn't let go of her, however, as he said the next part, looking straight into her eyes, "This ain't good-bye. I'll see you soon."

The witch nodded and walked towards the transporter pad, coming to stand next to Kirk.

"Hey, don't I get one of those?" Kirk spoke, half turning towards her and sounding slightly insulted. Why did Bones get to have a hug and he didn't? "You know, for good luck?"

"You'll get one if we make it back," promised Hermione.

Jim turned to her all the way, his tone serious, and blue eyes penetrating, "Not _if_ – _when._ " He might have been trying to convince her of this as much as he was trying to convince himself. "And I will hold you to that," he said with a wink, to which Hermione just rolled her eyes.

Uhura by now was standing next to McCoy, and everyone was ready for beaming.

"Okey-dokey, then," announced Scotty from behind his terminal. "If there's any common sense in the design of the enemy ship, I should be putting you somewhere in the Cargo Bay. Shouldn't be a soul in sight."

"Energize!" ordered Jim, and familiar golden spheres encircled them, as they disappeared.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 9

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 - the Narada_**

"Damage report!" demanded Nero as he made his way onto the Bridge.

"Our warp drive has been knocked out, Captain," said one crewmember.

"One of the inertial dampeners is disabled."

"Main power is at 81%."

"Impulse drive is also offline . . ."

More reports followed, indicating the multitude of relatively minor problems and malfunctions on the _Narada –_ disabled sensors, coolant leaks, fluctuations in the plasma coils that resulted in a power surge in the warp core . . . All happening on the ship that Nero had deemed virtually indestructible. But then again, none of them had expected an attack from within the ship itself. Nero was, however, pleased to note that – thanks to the ship's self-repairing capabilities – a sufficient amount of power diverted to the problem areas, combined with the crew's hard work, would have the _Narada_ continuing on its mission relatively soon.

"Weapons systems?" asked Nero.

"Weapons systems are fully functional, sir," reported Alidar, the helmsman.

 _At least we are not completely vulnerable_ , thought Nero bitterly.

He still couldn't believe or understand how all of this had happened right under their noses.

Nero knew that the bulk of Starfleet had been sent on a peacekeeping mission to the Laurentian system in response to the _Narada_ 's attack on Rura Penthe – a Klingon prison planet, where 47 Klingon warbirds were destroyed. It had been a great advance toward the completion of his goals – now, Nero could deal with the few remaining Federation ships at his leisure. And even though the _Narada_ had been temporarily delayed, he would still succeed. Nero's plans were still on track, and his ship would soon be on its way to lay waste to Earth – and then, he'd move onto cheerfully crushing his next target, and the next.

"Divert all auxiliary power and any of the main power that can be spared away from non-vital parts of the ship, and begin repairs immediately," Nero ordered. "I want the warp drive and the inertial dampener restored first. That is your priority! Everything else can wait."

"Sir, we have sustained heavy losses when it comes to the crew as well –" started Rael.

"I am aware, you fool!" shouted Nero. "Onel, since Onen is dead, I am making you my new Chief Engineer. I suggest you get to work right away."

"But Captain –" Onel started.

"Are you saying you cannot do it?" Nero snarled, taking a single, menacing step in Onel's direction.

"N-no," stuttered Onel, fear evident in his voice and features. "No, sir. I will get to work right away, sir!"

"You had better."

"Captain, should we continue looking for the other human?" inquired Ayel.

"No, we cannot spare any crew. I will attend to this matter personally. Ayel, you are to oversee all the repairs and get the ship functional as fast as you can. I give you an hour. Two, maximum!"

"Yes, sir."

"And I will be the one to deal with Christopher. It is time to get those frequencies. He should also know where this other human is, assuming that he is still alive. Rael, you are with me."

With that, Nero left the Bridge to go and interrogate Pike.

* * *

To say that Harry opened his eyes and regained consciousness in the nick of time would be a huge understatement. He quickly remembered where he was, and quietly – despite the pain he was experiencing – dragged himself upright. He had literally just finished adjusting his invisibility cloak when a few Romulans rounded a corner and walked right by him, with only inches separating him from immediate discovery. If he had still been lying down, he would have been trampled, and likely killed in short order.

Harry was fortunate that the invisibility cloak had covered him enough to conceal him while he was unconscious, and that no one had literally stumbled across him while he was out. Looking around, he couldn't find Pike anywhere: Harry surmised that the man hadn't been as fortunate. Harry hoped that Pike was at least still alive – and thankfully, his hope was a likely outcome in this instance, since Nero needed those blasted frequencies.

Harry waited with bated breath until the Romulans moved on to a different area, or were at least far enough away from him before he made any moves – but they didn't seem to have any intention of leaving the deck.

 _They must be here to do the repairs_ , concluded Harry. _I've got to get out of here_.

He slowly and silently got to his feet. That was when he realized that the escape may not be so simple. He was in a lot of pain and felt dizzy. And it wasn't just the slightly wobbly kind of dizziness – it was the kind that caused the ground to move in waves under the feet, and made him feel like he was on a ship being forcibly jerked out of warp all over again. His left arm was hanging limp at his side, and any movement of it caused enormous amounts of pain. The sounds that reached his ears were muffled, as if he were under water. His glasses were miraculously still on, even if slightly cracked and askew on his nose. His wand, however, was nowhere to be found. He tried summoning it, but did not succeed.

 _Hermione, I wish you were here_ , Harry thought longingly. _It was a bad idea after all, us separating_.

He was now alone on the enemy ship – injured, his only ally lost for the moment, no wand, and with no idea if help was ever to come. A wave of despair nearly overwhelmed him for a moment, but he fought it back with whatever remained of his Gryffindor courage. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a voice, which sounded strangely like Hermione's, telling him to be brave – to be strong, to hold on.

And he would _not_ lose hope.

He would _not_ give up.

Because he had been in worse situations before. If there was one thing that he had learnt from all the events of his past, it was that even seemingly impossible situations had a way of resolving themselves – somehow. But only as long as you held on to hope.

Harry waited a few minutes wanting to see if the dizziness would pass. And it did pass. Somewhat. He looked around the deck at the destruction that he had caused, and the Romulans that were hard at work, and hoped that the damage would buy enough time for help to come. However faint the chance was, he had a gut-feeling sort of faith that Hermione would get his message and arrive with help. Invisibility cloak securely around him, Harry moved slowly and quietly away, on wobbly feet, from the engineering deck, keeping close to walls.

His first priority: find Christopher Pike.

* * *

The first thing that Christopher Pike noticed when he regained consciousness was that he was dripping wet. Second – he was strapped down to some sort of tilted metal table. Third – he received a stab of nearly blinding pain every time he tried to move his left leg or take a deep breath.

Pike wasn't a doctor, but he concluded that his leg, a few ribs, and possibly his left arm, were broken. He was also reasonably sure that he also had a concussion, not to mention a plethora of possible internal injuries.

As if his situation wasn't bad enough, the next thing he noticed was Nero's face. The Romulan was sporting a rather large lump on his head with traces of his green blood around it and was sneering down at him, holding an empty bucket. Pike surmised that Nero must have dumped some water (at least, Pike hoped that it was water) on him to wake him up.

Pike looked over his surroundings. He was in a chamber that was full of various pieces of equipment that had been placed in a seemingly haphazard fashion. Two Romulans stood behind Nero – one was working at one of the terminals, and the other was fiddling with some tools that looked ominous to Pike. It was likely that they were instruments of torture. The chamber itself was vast, dark, dank, and hollow, and the ship's lighting made the metal walls gleam with a hideous green and yellow pattern.

Red alert lights were not flashing anymore.

Seeing the absence of the alarm, Pike's first thoughts were of Harry. He hoped against hope that the wizard was still alive. But his thoughts were soon interrupted.

"I would say welcome back, but I do not intend for our exchange to be _welcoming_ ," Nero addressed Pike ominously, anger evident in his voice. "First things first. Where is the other human?"

Pike almost smiled. Harry hadn't been captured – that was good news. Pike silently prayed that Harry was alive and, hopefully, well.

"This is your ship. Shouldn't you know where everyone is, _Captain_?" he responded, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Pike still maintained his sense of humour. He knew that he probably shouldn't bait the madman, but couldn't resist.

Predictably, Nero punched the human in the face for his flippancy, visibly trying to restrain himself from inflicting further damage. For now. The Romulan turned away from Pike and paced the chamber in an effort to calm himself, his boots sloshing through an ankle-deep, dark liquid – the smell of which reminded Pike of sewage water – as he went. After a few moments, Nero returned to Pike and leaned in close to him.

"Answer my question, Christopher!" demanded Nero, still breathing heavily. "Where is the other human?"

"I don't know," spat Pike. "And even if I did – I wouldn't tell you."

"Very well," Nero must have believed him, for he moved on another question.

He pulled out Harry's wand from his pocket and asked, "What is this?"

"It's a stick," responded Pike in a tone that suggested Nero must be blind not to see the obvious, all the while trying to hide his fear. He had forgotten to ask the wizard if he could perform magic without his wand. Pike tried very hard not to think of what might happen to Harry if he couldn't.

The human must have succeeded in hiding his apprehension, for the already unstable and angered Romulan seemed to notice only Pike's sarcasm.

Nero leaned in even closer, and bellowed, "ANSWER MY QUESTION!"

He took a moment to compose himself, and then continued more calmly, "This belonged to him, did it not? This was his weapon."

"Christopher Pike – Captain, _U.S.S._ _Enterprise._ Registration NCC-1701 . . ." recited Pike tonelessly in response.

This seemed to be enough of an answer for Nero, for he seemed to take it as a 'yes' and visibly relaxed – without this weapon, the other human wasn't considered a threat by him – and put Harry's wand back into his pocket.

"Ah, we are back to that again, are we not? I really cannot understand you humans. Here you are – all alone, abandoned by your Federation, just like we were . . . Injured . . ." Nero said sardonically as he twisted Pike's left arm, eliciting a shout of pain from the human.

 _Yep, definitely broken,_ thought Pike bitterly.

Nero continued, "And yet, you still resist me. And for what?"

Pike, breathing heavily through the pain, glared resolutely at the Romulan.

"Because I believe in something that you don't."

"And what would that be?" Nero asked, his tone mocking.

"Honour . . . loyalty . . . friendship . . . valour . . ."

Nero laughed loudly at this.

"You are so naïve, Christopher. Where were honour and loyalty when Romulus was being destroyed? Where were friendship and valour, when my people were left to _burn_? They do not exist! There is only power and its uses. There were those who had the power to save Romulus, but they betrayed us by doing nothing! But now _I_ hold the power, and I will use it. I am going to avenge the destruction of my planet, and the deaths of my people – of my wife!"

Nero's actions and so called 'vendetta' made about as much sense to Pike as the artwork of Salvador Dali. Pike realized that it was useless to try to reason with this madman.

"Then we have nothing left to discuss," he said simply, turning away from the agitated Romulan.

Nero nodded to himself, as if considering something, and said, "I do not know how you and the other human managed to cause this much damage to my ship, but it matters little. In an hour or two, we will be able to continue with our mission.

"No one is coming for you. I will make your death quick and painless, if you give me what I want. I require the subspace frequencies for Starfleet's border protection grids surrounding Earth."

"Christopher Pike – Captain, _U.S.S._ _Enterprise._ Registration –"

"If you do not cooperate, I will _force_ the information out of you," warned Nero.

"Christopher Pike – Captain, _U.S.S._ _Enterprise –_ "

"As you wish." Nero then turned to one of his crew members and said, "Bring me the prepared hypo."

A few moments later the crew member brought the requested item and placed it in his Captain's hands.

"Consider yourself fortunate," said Nero, leisurely examining the object in his hands. "I was going to use a Centaurian Slug to get the information out of you. Ever heard of them? They latch onto your brain stem and release a potent neurotoxin that _forces_ you to answer any and every question. They also happen to despise the dark and will furiously attempt to burrow their way toward the light . . . I hear that one ripping its way through your body is _excruciatingly_ painful."

Nero paused to see the effect his words were having on his prisoner. He was somewhat disappointed to see that Pike remained stoic, his features carefully arranged in a way that betrayed absolutely no fear.

"However, thanks to the destruction caused by you and your friend, my stock of these creatures has died," said Nero, his tone changing from sadistic amusement to anger as he spoke.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and continued, "Fortunately for us, we still have their venom. I _will_ get my answers, even if the process will not be as enjoyable for me . . ."

"But not to worry," Nero said, gesturing toward one of his assistants. "Rael here has studied human anatomy. He knows how to cause unimaginable amounts of pain simply by manipulating one of your nerve-beds. The sheer pain, combined with this venom – which will make you relive the worst of your memories – will make it easy for me to _rip_ the information out of you. And once I have my answers, I promise you will suffer a very slow and painful death.

"As for the other human – I will find him, and I will make you watch him die. That is, if he has not died already," Nero finished, very pleased with himself.

"Shall we begin?"

With that, Nero injected Pike with the hypo. Pike's eyes instantly glazed over.

 _[She was only six years old. Her beautiful sky-blue eyes were red and puffy and full of grief as tears unashamedly ran down her pale cheeks. Her hair spilled down against the back of her black dress. Body wracked by uncontrollable, silent sobs, she clung to him like he was her lifeline._

 _Ten-year-old Chris Pike stood next to his inconsolable sister, clinging to Charlotte just as much as she was clinging to him – and crying just as silently, eyes filled with the same grief. The two of them looked alike in their mourning, possessing shared facial features and wearing the same funeral black. The only difference was their hair – Charlotte's was a wavy gold to match their father's; Chris had their mother's, straight and dark brown._

 _They were standing in a cemetery, next to the freshly-dug graves that would soon be their parents' resting place forevermore. Surrounding them were family, friends, and even coworkers of their parents, all standing together under the pouring rain. Even Mother Nature seemed to grieve._

' _In loving memory of Willa Anne McKinnies-Pike (2179 – 2215) and Charles Joshua Pike (2174 – 2215)' read their parents' shared tombstone. Chris stared at it unseeingly as the priest continued to speak. Later, he would remember little of it; the only strong impressions on his mind were feelings – the raw emptiness that grief had left in its wake, and the heavy weight of responsibility that now laid upon his thin shoulders._

 _It was some freak accident, they said. They were killed instantly on their way back home. It was because of carelessness on the part of the other driver, who had also been killed, they said._

 _And now their parents were gone. Just like that._

" _Chris, I'm scared," said Charlotte quietly as they rode back to their grandparents' house from the cemetery._

 _Her eyes were wide and filled with tears, and she still clung to him like a limpet. "What are we going to do now?"_

 _Chris just stared ahead blankly, seemingly not hearing his sister. But he had heard. His heart broke, seeing his little sister so desperate and sorrowful – before everything had happened, she had always been smiling. He wanted to say something to comfort her, to reassure her, but found himself unable to speak. He felt paralyzed with his own grief._

" _Chris?" prompted Charlotte again, giving him a shake. "Chris!"]_

"Christopher," Charlotte kept speaking. "Give me the frequencies."

Pike's eyes flew wide open. As his vision came back into focus, he saw Nero's face once again. It hadn't been his sister's voice that had snapped him out of the memory/hallucination – it was the discrepancy in how 'she' had called him. Charley never called him by his full name. Not even when she was upset with him. He was always 'Chris' to her.

Breathing heavily and trying to bring his emotions under control, Pike locked eyes with Nero.

"The frequencies, Christopher," Nero repeated his demand.

"No," Pike responded evenly, shaking his head furiously. "I'm not . . . telling you . . . anyth–" he didn't get to finish the sentence, interrupted by his own scream of agony from the excruciating pain that Rael was causing.

Pike was thrown into another memory/hallucination.

 _[She was a young woman of nineteen. Her golden hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few wavy strands escaped to frame her face – as fresh as morning dew, as beautiful as the rose that gave Charlotte her middle name. She was dressed in a pale blue blouse that complemented her eyes and white shorts that exposed her long legs._

 _Standing next to her by the kitchen's island was a young man around her age. He had straight ebony, somewhat messy hair, chiseled face, pale skin, and was wearing a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. The two were locked in a rather passionate kiss._

 _Newly promoted Lieutenant Pike, who had just arrived back on planet from his first deep space assignment aboard_ U.S.S. Apollo _, saw red upon witnessing this scene. Before any words could be spoken, Pike grabbed the young man by the shoulders and practically shoved him outside the house – despite his lack of shoes – and towards his car._

" _Hey!" the young man protested._

" _Chris!" Charlotte called out to her brother, coming out of her shock and running after the duo._

" _Who the hell are you?" demanded Chris, glaring murderously at the young man and ignoring both of their interjections._

" _My name's Michael," the young man calmly responded. "Michael Blake. And you must be Chris, Lottie's older brother –"_

" _Get in the car," Chris cut him off._

" _Chris, please! Just listen to me –" his sister pleaded._

" _I said get in the damn car!" roared Pike at the young man, ignoring his sister._

" _It's okay, Lottie. It'll be alright," Michael reassured Charlotte, nodding at the furious older brother and complying with his demand._

 _He was barely able to shut the door behind himself before Chris took off, the car's engine roaring loudly in protest to a sudden acceleration._

 _Pike drove them to a place by the river that was rarely frequented by San Francisco's considerable foot traffic. It was a place that he and Charlotte had discovered a while ago. They loved it because it offered privacy, but still had a nice view overlooking the Bay._

 _Chris quickly got out of the car and opened the passenger's side door. He dragged Michael out of his seat by the shirt and promptly punched him in the face._

" _So, Michael Blake, what the hell is going on between you and my sister?" demanded Pike, his face flushed from anger._

 _He reached down toward the fallen man to grab him by the shirt once more._

" _I love her," responded Michael calmly, unfazed by Chris' anger and getting straight to the point._

 _He looked confidently into Pike's eyes – the same shade of blue as his sister's. The unexpected admission, the manner that it was spoken in, and the look in Michael's eyes made Chris loosen his grip on the other man's shirt. There was no lie in the young man's eyes. He truly meant it._

" _And I'm going to marry her," Michael continued with all sincerity. He knew there was a good chance he would be beaten to a pulp by his girlfriend's brother, but that was the way Michael Blake was: sincere, straightforward, and brave – sometimes to the point of stupidity._

" _Why didn't I know anything about this?" asked Pike more calmly, letting Michael free from his grasp._

" _Well, we met shortly after you left the planet," explained Blake, rubbing his cheek, where Chris had punched him; it would definitely bruise. "And she was reluctant to tell you over a transmission. She wanted to do it face-to-face. We were actually getting the house ready for tomorrow, so that we could have a dinner together, and she could introduce me. Weren't you supposed to return tomorrow?"_

" _I was. But we were early. I wanted to surprise her."_

" _That went well."_

" _Shut up," snapped Chris, turning to gaze at the Bay._

 _The sun was setting and casting a warm red glow over everything its light touched._

 _"If she just had said something earlier, none of this would have happened," Pike said, starting to regret his earlier actions._

" _Well, she knows how overprotective you are. She was concerned that you might go off the deep end, abandon your mission, and somehow find a way to get back to Earth . . ."_

" _She probably wasn't wrong about that," admitted Chris thoughtfully._

 _His sister really knew him well._

 _"She's all I have left," he admitted._

" _I know," was Michael's quiet response._

" _I am warning you now," Pike's tone turned dangerous again, as he suddenly turned to look at Blake. "If you ever hurt her –"_

" _I won't," interrupted Blake. "I'd rather die than hurt her. I mean it."_

 _And he really did. Chris could tell. He was a reasonably good judge of character. It was a skill that would later make him an excellent recruiting officer for Starfleet Academy._

 _Pike's anger towards the young man had by now completely dissipated._

 _"Well," he said, "I guess I should apologize for dragging you here in your socks and nearly beating the crap out of you."_

" _It's okay," smiled Michael. "I forgive you."_

" _But she may not," pointed out Chris._

" _That's true," agreed Michael. "Not immediately, anyway. But she will, eventually. She loves you too much not to."_

 _He paused, considering something, and said, "Listen. I haven't proposed to her yet. I wanted to talk to you first."_

 _Michael pulled out a diamond ring out of his pocket and showed it to Chris._

 _"I would like your blessing to marry your sister. I know it's really old-fashioned and all," he said with a cheeky grin, "but that's how I wanted it. Of course, I would go to your father, but seeing that he's . . ." Michael trailed off, clearing his throat, now completely serious again._

 _Pike studied the young man in front of him, gazing intently into his hazel eyes. Despite knowing him for less than an hour, Chris already had a good idea of what kind of man Michael was. And he knew his sister well – Charley wasn't someone who got into relationships lightly. For her to have Michael as a boyfriend for almost a whole year – the duration of Chris' deep space assignment – spoke volumes._

 _Pike, blinded by his anger, had forgotten that fact for a moment._

 _That was why he said, "As long as you promise to love her, protect her, and make her happy. That's all I ask."_

" _I promise," responded Michael earnestly, without any hesitation._

 _And that was when Chris knew that he could fully trust this man with his sister._

 _Charlotte, as Chris had predicted, did not easily forgive him for treating the man she loved in such a manner – and for not giving her a chance to explain things._

" _I hate you!" she yelled at him later on, nearly breaking his heart._

 _They had always been so close, especially after their parents' death. To hear those dreadful words from her was beyond painful. But he knew it was his own fault. He deserved it.]_

"Christopher, I want those frequencies."

To his horror, Pike realized that he now remembered the frequencies. Harry's memory charm had been broken.

Desperately trying to resist the venom, Pike struggled to say, "N-no. No!"

More pain followed, along with another memory.

 _[The little boy was seven years old. Despite his young age, he seemed to have no problem playing Chopin's Nocturne Op.9 №2 on the piano. His long,_ _slender fingers moved fluidly and effortlessly across the keys, producing one of Chris' favorite pieces of music. He knew it was Charlotte's favorite as well. This must have been the boy's way of trying to cheer up his mother and to break her out of the clutches of the depression that she had spiraled into after her husband's death._

 _It had been two weeks. Two weeks since her husband, the love of her life, was taken from her. An explosion in the lab caused by some junior intern, they said. Michael had been a chemist. Unfortunately, he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now Charlotte, only thirty-four years old, was a widow. True to his words, Michael had made Charley very happy and never hurt her._

 _"I'd rather die than hurt her," he had said to Chris once upon a time._

 _Little did he realize that his death would hurt her more than he could have ever imagined. It didn't just break her – it had completely shattered her . . ._

 _The melody came to an end, interrupting Chris' thoughts._

 _"That was beautifully played, William. As always," he addressed the boy._

" _Uncle Chris!" William seemed slightly startled, and then he got up from the piano to give his uncle a hug._

 _The boy had inherited his mother's blue eyes and his father's looks and jet black hair. His childish face was pale and grief stricken. It was the same look that Charlotte once had, when their parents had died. Chris' heart clenched painfully upon seeing it._

 _No child should have that look._

" _How are you feeling, champ?" asked Chris, getting down on one knee to ruffle William's hair._

 _He tried to smile, but it failed. The boy didn't say anything, just gave him a look._

 _"I'm sorry, that was kind of a dumb question, wasn't it?"_

" _I suppose it was," responded William, nodding._

 _He was rather intelligent for his age, and even looked older than he really was._

 _Chris hesitated for a moment, and then said, "I would like for you and your mom to go back with me to California. What do you say? Do you think she would want that?"_

 _After graduation, Michael had been offered a good position with a company in London. As a result, that was where William was born and had lived all of his life – up to that moment. Chris thought that going back to California, to a familiar environment, might help Charlotte recover from her husband's death._

 _William considered his uncle's question and said, "I think she would. I think we both would like to be closer to you, now that . . . you know . . ." William trailed off, looking down._

 _Chris was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected admission coming from a seven-year-old boy._

 _"What's it like? In California, I mean?" asked William, blue eyes trained on his uncle's._

" _Well, I live in San Francisco. It's a big central city, like London, but busier because it's the capital city of United Earth. Starfleet Headquarters are located there, as well as Starfleet Academy. Because of that, there are always diplomats and ambassadors coming through from different planets, like Vulcan, Andor, Denobula, and so on. So, it's more diverse –"_

" _I want to go there," interrupted William, his mind already made up._

 _He had always seemed to be fascinated with space, and from an early age loved to listen to his uncle's stories about his missions and assignments. Michael and Charlotte had both attended civilian universities and had civilian jobs – Michael as a chemist, and Charley as a botanist. Neither of them had the desire for space travel._

" _Okay, well, then we need to talk to your mom."_

" _I want to go into space. Like you."]_

Somewhere – where his body was and his mind was not – Pike heard beeping and fragments of a conversation.

"…should not take this long…"

"…starting to work…"

"….will not be able to reject the venom much longer…."

"…involuntary…"

"….too much pain…"

The beeping continued and an agitated Nero flipped his communicator open and snarled into it, "What _is_ it?"

" _Captain, our sensors have picked up a ship!"_ Ayel reported.

"Destroy it," commanded Nero impatiently.

" _Yes, sir!"_ said Ayel, terminating the connection.

And then, a few moments later, Nero's communicator beeped again.

The Captain angrily flipped it open, nearly tearing off the lid in the process, "What _now_?"

" _C-captain,_ " responded Ayel uncertainly, traces of fear evident in his voice. _"The ship is now gone."_

"What do you mean, it is ' _gone_ '?" seethed Nero.

He turned to Rael and said, "Continue without me. You know what to do."

"Yes, sir," Rael responded.

Nero turned on his heel and stalked out of the chamber towards the Bridge.

" _I-I do not know,"_ continued Ayel. _"It simply disappeared. It was there – and now it is not. There was that unknown energy signature again, briefly, before we lost it –"_

"A ship cannot just disappear like that! It probably has a cloaking device. Track for energy distortions, plasma exhaust, residual anti-protons – anything! Do a metaphasic sweep of the area! I will be there shortly."

With that, Nero closed the lid of his communicator and practically ran deck after deck to the Bridge.

"Captain, according to all of our functioning sensors, the ship should be located here," reported Ayel, pointing to the screen of one of the terminals, as soon as Nero showed up on the Bridge.

"Fire at will," commanded Nero, and a few moments later the torpedoes were dispatched in the direction where presumably the _Enterprise_ was.

Nothing happened. The _Narada_ 's weapons went straight through the location, hitting nothing.

At that moment, Nero's communicator beeped once again, and a member of the crew reported, _"Captain, we have Starfleet Officers aboard the ship. One of them is Vulcan –"_

There were some shouts and sounds of fighting, and the connection was terminated.

"No," Nero's expression was dark. "Ayel, you are with me. Alidar, you have the conn. Deal with that ship!"

He then stormed off the Bridge, Ayel trailing behind him, to personally deal with the intruders.

"SPOCK!" Nero bellowed.

* * *

Expecting the _Narada_ to have been designed with anything even remotely resembling common sense had been beyond optimistic.

The mismatched trio, armed with phasers – Spock in science blue, Hermione in operations red, and Kirk in nondescript black – materialized right onto a deck full of at least a dozen Romulans, all frantically working at terminals.

Hermione's reflexes were frighteningly fast. Despite the fact that she had been shown how to use a phaser only shortly before coming to the _Narada_ (Kirk and Spock had both insisted that she should use a phaser, and not her wand for self-defense for the purposes of preserving her energy and magic for those instances when it was really needed), she was already reasonably proficient with it. Her aim was rather good when using her wand, and the skill seemed to translate over to using a phaser.

" _How hard can it really be?"_ she said earlier, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Spock and an amused smile from Kirk. _"Point, pull trigger, fire, repeat. Got it. Let's go."_

Hermione had pulled out her phaser and neatly took out a Romulan closest to them by the time Kirk and Spock were even able to pull out theirs. A moment later, the air filled with warning shouts.

And all hell broke loose.

The trio sprinted for cover, ducking under deadly streaks of green light ( _Yes, just like the Killing Curse_ , Hermione thought) and firing their own weapons back at the enemy. They wound between the stations, leaving a trail of scorched, smoking metal in their wake as the energy bullets they dodged collided with the consoles.

At least they had the element of surprise on their side. The Romulans were left to scramble for their weapons in panic – and the three intruders took full advantage of it to quickly take out any Romulan that entered their sight. The three did surprisingly well for their first experience working together, covering each other's blind spots, and yanking each other out of the way of fire as they ran.

Finally, they took cover behind a bulky piece of equipment and shot over the top of it at the remaining Romulans.

They didn't notice until it was too late that one of the Romulans on the floor had only pretended to be hit.

He stealthily pulled out his communicator and spoke, "Captain, we have Starfleet officers aboard the ship. One of them is Vulcan –"

His message was interrupted, as Kirk, who was a very good shot, blasted the communicator out of the Romulan's hands. He screamed in pain, before dying from another shot square to his chest.

Finally, the chamber fell silent. The trio cautiously emerged from their hiding spot and were greeted by the last crewmember, who came out from behind one of the terminals to fire at them. Hermione shot the weapon out of his hands, while Kirk, pressing a switch of his phaser to snap it from red 'kill' to blue 'stun', quickly stunned him.

"Go, Spock. We'll cover you," said Kirk to Spock, eyes still wandering around as he snapped his phaser back to its 'kill' setting.

"Are you certain?" Spock replied softly.

"Yes, we've got your back," confirmed Hermione, also scanning the area.

Spock soundlessly hurried towards the unconscious Romulan, keeping low, his phaser at the ready. He knelt down next to the Romulan and positioned his fingers over bioelectrical focal points of his face, establishing the connection. Closing his eyes and sifting through the memories, Spock didn't see two Romulans advancing on him with weapons drawn. However, Kirk and Hermione did. They moved as one and took out both Romulans, who collapsed onto the floor with a thud and a clatter of the weapons falling out of their hands. Spock didn't even flinch.

They were fortunate enough that this Romulan knew exactly where the _Jellyfish_ – Spock Prime's ship containing the Red Matter – and Captain Pike were.

Kirk knelt down next to Spock and asked, "Do you know where it is? The Red Matter?"

"And Captain Pike," responded Spock, opening his eyes.

"What about Harry?" asked Hermione worriedly.

"His last known location would be the engineering deck, where he caused the explosion which successfully stopped the ship. They do not know anything else about his whereabouts."

"We'll find him, don't worry. We won't leave him here," Kirk assured her.

He then addressed Spock, "Which is closer – Pike or Red Matter?"

"Captain Pike. He is held two decks above us in a chamber of sorts. And the Red Matter is housed in a small vessel in the hangar bay four decks below us."

Kirk nodded and said, "I say we split up. Spock, you get the ship with the Red Matter, I'll go get Pike, and Hermione –"

"– will find Harry," Hermione finished, as she pulled out her wand and said, _"Expecto Patronum."_

A silvery otter burst out of its tip and started gamboling around the trio.

"What –" Kirk started, amazed.

"Later, James," said Hermione, as the otter came to stop in front of her.

With another wave of her wand at the silvery animal she said, _"Reperio pallium,"_ and the otter took off in the direction of the deck above.

"Harry's that way," announced Hermione, switching out her wand for her borrowed phaser as she followed.

"Wait up! It looks like you and I are going in the same direction!" whisper-shouted Kirk to her back, and then turned to Spock, "How exactly do I find Captain Pike?"

"Let me show you," replied Spock, holding out his hand to perform the mind-meld.

Kirk nodded, and a few moments later, he knew Pike's exact location.

"I'll see you soon," he said to Spock. "Don't linger here. Be safe," he finished, clapping him on the shoulder and turning to follow Hermione.

Spock raised an eyebrow in response, nodded, and turned to leave in the opposite direction towards the _Jellyfish_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 10

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 – U.S.S. Enterprise_**

Doctor Leonard McCoy had just walked through the sliding doors that led onto the Bridge, when he looked at the view screen and saw three torpedoes emerge from within the multi-limbed malignity that was the _Narada –_ heading straight towards the _Enterprise_.

"Mr. Sulu, do something!" he shouted, his voice full of apprehension and eyes bulging as he held onto the railing with a tense and white-knuckled grip.

"Don't worry about it," responded the helmsman calmly, throwing a quick glance at the doctor and continuing to tap away at the screen of his terminal.

"Don't worry about it?" echoed McCoy in disbelief.

Instantly, he had a flashback to the most recent _Kobayashi Maru_ test, when James Kirk said the exact same words in response to a report about two Klingon vessels locking onto them with their weapons targeting systems. But this wasn't a simulation. This was real. There were tangible, powerful, and very deadly torpedoes flying straight at them at this very moment – but everyone on the Bridge was as cool as a cucumber.

" _Don't worry about it_?" McCoy repeated. "Are you out of your sushi-fed mind? There are damn torpedoes about to blow us all to high heaven and you're saying, ' _Don't worry about it'_?!" he finished in panic, his voice rising in volume as he gesticulated wildly at the view screen. "I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to meet my maker yet."

"It's okay. Just watch," smirked Sulu, nodding towards the screen.

McCoy braced himself for the impact . . . but it never happened. Just before the weapons hit the ship, they disappeared. And if the information displayed on the screen was to be trusted, the torpedoes had reappeared harmlessly on the other side of the ship, leaving the _Enterprise_ safe and sound.

"What the hell just happened?" asked McCoy, confused.

"Weren't you listening to Granger earlier?" explained Sulu. "It's all this Fidelity Charm, or whatever that spell was called. They've fired about a dozen torpedoes by now, and every single one has gone straight through us."

"Ve are simply not zere," added Chekov. "It's magic!"

His skepticism stretched almost too far in the span of one day, McCoy nodded – his mouth still agape with incredulity. Even though he now believed in magic, to see it in action like _this_ was something else.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said simply. "She definitely made a believer out of me. Joanna will laugh at me, if I ever tell her I believe in magic . . ."

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 - the Narada_**

The _Narada_ 's design was more complicated than any vessel Kirk had ever seen, whether in classes, simulations, or in real life. It seemed to have been built with absolutely no regard whatsoever for logic, common sense, or efficiency.

Kirk and Hermione were inside a maintenance tunnel, carefully threading their way through inch-deep water or some other liquid, as they followed the otter.

"James, it's probably best if we split up," Hermione whispered. "Are you sure Captain Pike is this way?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Kirk whispered back. "And why do you want to split up? Got tired of me that quickly?" he added, sounding slightly insulted.

"Don't be ridiculous, James. I am merely looking out for your safety. The Romulans probably can track my Patronus . . ."

As if to prove Hermione's assumption, incoming footsteps and the sloshing of water echoed off the walls of the tunnel. A few moments later, the duo was greeted with two Romulans, one of which held his rifle at the ready as his partner intently examined the screen of his hand-held device. The two were taken out by phaser-fire before they knew what hit them.

"See? What did I tell you? You'll get to Captain Pike faster and with less of a chance of encountering the enemy if I'm not around."

"If you think I'm going to let you wander around this ship looking for Potter alone – while you're being tracked, no less – you're _nuts_. It's not happening. Come with me to get Pike, then the _Enterprise_ can beam him back while you and I continue looking for Potter –"

"Time, James. Time. We might not have enough of it before –" She was interrupted, as two more Romulans came out of nowhere and started firing at them.

"– shit hits the fan?" supplied Kirk helpfully, firing back at the enemy and neatly taking them out.

"That's not what I was going to say, but that would be an apt description of the situation, I suppose," she said.

Hermione took a deep breath and hastily began to follow her otter into another tunnel, Kirk following right behind.

"Well, according to your little otter Pike and Potter are in the same direction. So, I don't see a reason why we can't go together," Kirk said softly, taking the lead.

That seemed to convince Hermione – or least persuaded her to stop arguing for the moment. They continued down the tunnel in silence, intently listening for any more footsteps and scanning the area for more enemies.

When they emerged on the other side, slipping through a tangle of wires and some debris, they halted. Nero was standing on the platform directly opposite them, a menacing and insane look on his face. Kirk quickly pushed Hermione behind himself, and then gripped his phaser in both hands, making sure it was on its 'kill' setting.

Yes, he wanted Nero dead. For killing his father and depriving him of the life that he could have had, had both of his parents been alive. For causing his mother enough pain that it eventually ended up ripping apart whatever remained of their family. For all the lives lost on _Kelvin_ and on Vulcan. For all those people who had been unfortunate enough to be aboard the _Farragut_ , _Mayflower_ , _Antares_ , _Truman_ , _Wolcott_ , and _Hood_ – the Federation ships that had been sent to Vulcan on a rescue mission; the ships that Nero had destroyed. The crews of those vessels had contained senior cadets from the Academy, just like the _Enterprise._ Kirk personally knew many of them.

Kirk felt fire light up in his chest until it spread throughout his entire being, a blazing inferno that would put the Sun itself to shame – fierce, protective, full of vengeance.

Kirk was a good shot, and an energy bullet moved faster than Nero ever could, even at the distance that separated them . . . Despite his own instinct toward mercy, Kirk took aim and fired without warning – after all, billions of innocent lives had already been lost because of Nero, and billions more would die if the madman wasn't stopped.

The shot missed. It wouldn't have, had Nero not decided to jump down from the platform he was standing on a second too soon.

Kirk took aim once more, but in the same moment, Ayel silently came out of the shadows behind a distracted Hermione and struck her in the head. She collapsed onto the floor like a rag doll, dropping her phaser, which then slid out of reach towards one of the nearby service tunnels. Kirk turned around at the noise, just in time to have Ayel hit him hard across the face with the butt of his gun. Kirk slammed to the ground, his phaser sliding out of his hands to fall over the edge of the platform. Groaning, he turned to lie on his back. He looked up with now-blurry vision to see Ayel standing over him and sneering, a disruptor rifle in his hands.

With thunderous footsteps, Nero made his way towards the trio, jumping from platform to platform with enviable ease. He looked at Kirk with hatred, but then knelt next to Hermione, his expression altering to something strangely soft as he gazed at her face. He reached out to gently stroke her cheek. She looked almost disturbingly like Mandana – his wife – in human form; Mandana, whom he still loved even after twenty-five years.

The image of his Mandana, forever ingrained in his memory, floated to the forefront of his mind again.

 _[Dark brown eyes, curling brown hair – both shining with gold in the sunlight – high cheekbones covered by soft skin . . ._

 _"That is the look that tells me my husband is about to disappear for another three months," she said – her voice soft and musical, her features clearly indicating concern – as she walked into their bedroom where Nero was sitting, hunched over and holding his head with both of his hands._

 _"Nero? Talk to me."_

 _"I was chosen to represent the Miner's Guild during the Senate meeting," started Nero, standing up, taking a deep breath, and pacing before his wife. "Ambassador Spock proposed a plan to eliminate the supernova by using Vulcan Red Matter to create an artificial black hole. But the Senate refused to believe the Ambassador's warnings and rejected his plan._

 _"How can they be so blind! How can they be so incompetent!" exclaimed Nero, throwing up his arms in frustration._

 _Mandana studied her husband for a moment and said, "But you have already made up your mind, have you not?"_

 _"You know me too well," replied Nero, stopping dead in his tracks and giving his head a slight shake. "Decalithium is needed to create the Red Matter – something that we currently do not have. If I can persuade my crew to go with me and Spock to the neighboring Kimben system, we can acquire it there. However, I am risking my career over this decision . . ."_

 _Mandana stepped closer and took Nero's face into her hands, "Do what feels right. Trust your heart."_

 _Nero nodded, "Come with me."_

 _"No!" Her features turned hard, as she let go of her husband. "I will not give birth to our child in the freezing cargo hold of a mining ship!"_

 _"Please –" started Nero, gently taking hold of Mandana's hands._

 _"You'll be back soon enough."_

 _"You'll be safe on the_ Narada, _" Nero didn't give up so easily. "Just come with me. Ambassador Spock thinks that we have enough time, but if we don't –"_

 _"We will," she interrupted firmly. "And I will be safe here. In our_ home _, where our baby belongs," she continued, placing Nero's hands on her abdomen. "Where_ we _belong."]_

But the Nero in that memory was long gone. Everything that was once good in him had since been twisted by hate and rage. This, no doubt, was aided by the fact that he had spent twenty-five years as a slave in the darkest hole in the galaxy, Rura Penthe, where he had taken up a vow of silence and became known as 'the one who does not speak'. Twenty-five years of pain and torture and despair. And all thanks to the _Kelvin_ 's George Kirk, who had smashed his ship into the _Narada –_ somehow managing to engage the warp drive at the moment of impact, which had ultimately caused catastrophic damage to all systems, disabling their weapons, warp drive and shields. It had very nearly torn them apart. Who could have known that such a small ship could cause so much damage? Enough damage to make the _Narada_ easy prey for the Klingons . . .

"Get away from her!" grunted out Kirk angrily, trying to stand up, and interrupting Nero's thoughts.

Nero was snapped out of his memories and whipped around to gaze at Kirk, a crazy look back on his face. He looked back at Hermione again, this time with disgust. How _dare_ she look like _his_ Mandana? This was an impostor! His Mandana was dead, and Nero had died with her. There was nothing left for him but revenge.

Nero angrily made his way towards Kirk, picked him up by the shirt, and threw him effortlessly onto another platform.

"I know your face from Earth's history," he spoke, as he walked towards Kirk.

He picked the human up again and started raining punches down on him, attempting to release all of his pent up anger and rage – at what Harry and Pike had done to his ship, at Spock, and at the Federation itself as a whole.

Kirk had no time or chance to even try to respond with a punch of his own – he hardly was able to catch a breath, gasping for air.

 _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! How could I have missed?!_ he thought, angry at himself and at fate.

"James T. Kirk was considered to be a great man," continued Nero as he wrapped his hands around Kirk's neck. "He went on to Captain the _U.S.S. Enterprise_. But that was another time, another life. A life I will deprive you of, just like I did your father."

Kirk was starting to turn blue from lack of oxygen – but then Nero's communicator beeped. He ignored it at first, but the beeping persisted, so he dropped Kirk unceremoniously on the floor and impatiently picked up the device.

"What is it?" he snarled out.

" _Captain, the Vulcan Starfleet officer was spotted on a deck above Hangar 8,"_ announced a voice on the other side somewhat hesitantly, sensing the Captain's rage. " _He is leaving a trail of bodies behind, and we think he's heading for the Vulcan ship."_

"SPOCK!" bellowed Nero, snapping his communicator shut, his features contorting with rage. "SPOCK! I WILL KILL YOU!"

He then turned to Ayel, and nodded towards Kirk, "Finish what I have started. Kill them both," Nero ordered, shooting once more a hateful look towards Hermione before jumping away from platform to platform with frightening agility.

"Gladly," Ayel smirked, making his way towards Kirk with the promise of a slow and painful death in his eyes. He could deal with the woman later – she was no threat to him at the moment, if at all.

 _Like hell,_ thought Kirk as he forced himself to rise to his feet.

Kirk's eyes darted around, quickly assessing his options – only to realize he didn't really have any. A voice somewhere in the back of his mind told him that this was futile, that the Romulan in front of him was three times stronger – that Kirk himself (despite being top of his class in advanced hand-to-hand combat, survival strategies, and tactical analysis) currently wasn't in a position to efficiently fight back . . . But he was the same James Kirk who didn't believe in no-win scenarios, and so, stupid as that might seem, he got ready to fight.

A brawl broke out, with Ayel delivering blow after blow, as Kirk did his best to block or evade them – all the while trying and sometimes succeeding to deliver a few of his own punches. Finally, Ayel knocked Kirk down, before casually dragging him up by a harsh grip on his throat and suspending him over the gaping chasm below.

"I was right. Your species is weak and pathetic," Ayel sneered in slight amusement, observing Kirk's struggle with disdain. "You can't even speak."

 _Why does everyone want to strangle me today?_ Kirk thought wildly, the oxygen and life draining out of him for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

At that moment, Kirk vaguely heard Hermione shout, _"Stupefy!"_

A flash of red light hit Ayel squarely in the back, and he suddenly went unconscious, releasing Kirk, and toppled over into the abyss below. Kirk was barely able to catch the edge of the platform.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Kirk, who had been struggling to pull himself up onto the platform after being nearly murdered _again_ , floated through the air until he came to rest by Hermione.

"Thanks," Kirk choked out, his throat burning.

"No problem," replied Hermione as she knelt beside him, scanning the area for any more Romulans. They seemed to be alone. For now.

"You . . . shouldn't be . . . using your . . . magic," Kirk uttered with great difficulty, coughing.

"Well, I couldn't just let you die, could I?" Hermione responded, putting both of her hands gently around his neck and murmuring diagnostic and healing spells.

Kirk felt warmth radiating from Hermione's hands, accompanied by a tingling sensation that spread to his entire body. Kirk stared at her, unable to take his eyes off her face. He didn't know if it was his concussed brain, or lack of oxygen to said brain, or the dim lighting of the ship, or something else entirely – but she seemed to glow.

His gaze shifted to her full pink lips, and that is when he realized that she was actually saying something to him, ". . . and almost fractured your larynx and hyoid bone." She removed her hands from his neck and continued, "This should help with the internal injuries, but Dr. McCoy will need to have a look at you when we get back, just to make sure that –"

"You're beautiful," Kirk slurred, cutting her off, eyes still on her face.

"Um . . . right. I think all that lack of oxygen to your brain is starting to affect your mind. And how hard did you hit your head?" Hermione said, now placing her hands on either side of his head to examine it.

"I mean it," Kirk said seriously, snatching both of her hands and eliciting a soft, surprised gasp from Hermione at his abrupt movement.

"Erm . . . thanks," she replied, removing her hands from his.

She stood to make sure that there were no nearby enemies – but also to hide the flush that had appeared on her cheeks.

"But we really ought to go. So get up, James," she added holding out her hand to help him.

Kirk nodded, accepted her hand, and rose to his feet. Then he suddenly stepped to the right, pulling her into the cradle of his torso and out of the way of disruptor fire. He looked over, and saw that it was coming from a Romulan who had suddenly appeared a platform over from them. Grabbing Hermione by the hand, he ran with her towards the nearest tunnel, keeping low and quickly bending down to pick up Hermione's fallen phaser as he went – all the while dodging the deadly streaks of green light. Once they took cover, Kirk picked an opportune moment to come out of his hiding place and neatly took out the offending Romulan.

"You okay?" Kirk asked softly, still scanning the area for more enemies.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you," Hermione whispered back, realizing that she would be dead by now, if Kirk hadn't pulled her out of the line of fire.

"No problem," Kirk responded with a small smile, meeting her eyes.

His smile, however, quickly disappeared, when he saw blood now trailing down Hermione's temple.

"That sonofabitch!" he muttered angrily, referring to Ayel, and reached out a hand to wipe off the blood.

"James! Language!" Hermione whispered, scandalized.

"What? He is!"

"Leave it, James, it's nothing," she said, pulling his hand away. "We've got bigger things to worry about right now than a bit of blood. Now, where did my Patronus go?"

"You mean, your shiny little otter? I think it went that way," said Kirk, pointing towards the tunnel branching off to the left. "Although, I can't be absolutely sure."

Hermione nodded and started in the direction pointed out by Kirk. After a few moments she halted and raised her wand, putting one finger to her lips.

"What?" he mouthed, listening intently.

"Someone's coming," she said barely audibly.

Kirk heard water splashing as someone came down the water-logged tunnel towards them.

Phaser and wand at the ready, the duo stood very still in anticipation, hidden in the shadows as the sounds got louder and louder. A few moments later, Hermione's Patronus emerged from around the corner and gamboled towards her, illuminating her face. With a wave of her wand, the otter disappeared, leaving Kirk and Hermione in the shadows again.

"Hermione?" asked a voice quietly. She would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Harry?" asked Hermione, stepping forwards into the dim lighting, scanning the area for her best friend, and not finding him.

Harry then removed the invisibility cloak from around his face, the rest of his body still hidden.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, running towards her best friend to firmly embrace him, almost knocking him flat on his back in the process.

"Ow! Blimey, Hermione!" complained Harry, wincing.

"Oh, sorry! Sorry, Harry. Are you hurt?" she said, pulling away and removing the cloak to give her friend a quick once-over.

"My shoulder . . . I think it's dislocated. I might have a few broken ribs and a slight concussion, but I'll be alright," said Harry, putting away the cloak into his pocket with his good arm.

"It's good to see you again, Potter," interjected Kirk. "How did you find us?"

"Hermione's Patronus. It found me. And then I sort of followed it."

"Well, now that you are here, we need to get Pike and get the hell outta here."

"Er . . . About that . . ." started Harry uncertainly. "I lost him. I don't know where he is."

"I do."

"You do? Where?"

"Not far from here."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and then tensed again. "Hermione, my wand. I lost my wand after the explosion. I tried summoning it, but I might be a bit low on energy for wandless magic after all the fighting and spell casting I had to do earlier. Can you summon it for me?"

"Of course, Harry –"

"Hey, you shouldn't be using your magic, remember?" interrupted Kirk, addressing Hermione sternly.

"What's he talking about?" inquired Harry, looking between Kirk and his best friend in confusion.

"Nothing," responded Hermione, giving Kirk a look that clearly indicated that he should shut up. "James, I think you should contact Spock and warn him about Nero," she said icily.

"Spock? He's here too?" asked Harry.

"Yes. He went to get the ship with the Red Matter. James, you need to tell him to leave as soon as possible."

"Are you always this bossy?" asked Kirk, much to Harry's amusement, pulling out his communicator.

She didn't say anything, just gave him a look, and then waved her wand and said, " _Accio Harry's wand_!"

Kirk flipped his communicator open and pressed a button to Spock's frequency, even as his eyes continued to scan the area. "Spock, how are you doing there?"

" _I am just entering the vessel, Captain,"_ responded Spock evenly, and Kirk heard the hiss of opening doors as Spock entered the cockpit of the _Jellyfish_. _"I foresee a complication. The design of this ship is far more advanced than I had anticipated."_

" _Voice print and face recognition analysis enabled,_ " announced a feminine voice. _"Welcome back, Ambassador Spock."_

 _Oh, crap,_ thought Kirk, as he also heard the automated greeting.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw Hermione waving her wand at Harry's left arm – bandages sprung out of nowhere and bound the wizard's left arm tightly to his body to prevent any movement.

" _Computer, what is your manufacturing origin?"_ inquired Spock.

" _Stardate 2387. Commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy."_

" _Captain, it appears that you have been keeping important information from me,_ " Spock sounded upset.

"Spock, Nero is on his way to you," Kirk decided to ignore Spock's comment. "You need to get the ship and get out of there. You're gonna be able to fly that thing, right?"

" _Something tells me that I already have,"_ replied Spock neutrally, accepting that now was not the time to discuss the issue.

"Good luck," Kirk said and was about to terminate the connection, when Spock's voice stopped him.

" _Jim."_

It was the first time young Spock had called him by his first name. Kirk was somewhat caught off-guard.

" _Have you found Captain Pike and Mr. Potter?"_

"We found Potter . . ." stated Kirk, and then corrected himself, "or he found us. And we're on our way to get Pike."

" _In the event that I do not return, please tell Lieutenant Uhura –"_

"Spock!" Kirk cut him off softly but firmly at the same time. "It'll be fine. And I'll see you soon. Kirk out."

Kirk, putting his communicator away, looked up at Harry and Hermione and was somewhat startled to see Harry's wand come flying towards them at that exact moment.

"Um, okay," he said, giving his head a slight shake. Would he ever get used to all this magic? He continued resolutely, "Let's go get Pike."

The trio took off towards the deck above, leaving the maintenance tunnel behind and weaving their way through computer terminals, tangles of wires, and other pieces of unfamiliar equipment. Thankfully, the Romulans they encountered along the way were easily dealt with.

Finally, they reached the chamber where Pike was being held. There were two Romulans standing over him. It took total of two seconds for Kirk and Hermione working as a team to take them down. Pike, who was strapped to a very uncomfortable-looking metal table, stirred at the sound and opened his eyes.

Kirk's face was the first one he saw as he muttered, barely conscious, "Kirk? What are you doing here?"

"Came back, sir. Just like you ordered," responded Kirk, holstering his phaser and unbuckling one of Pike's restraints.

Hermione came to his aide, unbuckling some of the other restraints, while Harry stood guard and took out another Romulan that came barreling into the chamber with a rifle.

"Harry?" asked Pike weakly.

"I'm right here," confirmed the wizard.

Pike sighed in relief as Kirk and Hermione hauled him to his feet, supporting him on either side. It was time to leave this blasted place.

" _Enterprise_ , now!" shouted Kirk into his communicator, flipping it open with his free hand.

Threads of golden light enveloped them, and they left the _Narada_ behind.

* * *

As soon as the connection with Kirk was terminated, Spock seated himself in the rotating pilot's seat. It turned on its own to slowly face the controls.

"Fascinating," he uttered, initiating the ship's startup sequence.

At that moment, the doors to the ship were blasted open and an enraged Nero came barreling inside, shooting at Spock. However, Nero's aim, hindered by his rage, was far from accurate. The Romulan missed Spock and blasted a large hole in the front of the ship.

 _Fascinating,_ thought Spock, briefly wondering what kind of weapon Nero was using to achieve this kind of result.

" _Ship's integrity is compromised, "_ announced the automated voice.

Spock, taking a temporary cover behind the pilot's seat, fired back at Nero, who was quick enough to hide behind one of the ship's walls. Spock used that second of reprieve to roll forward in one fluid movement towards the nearest curving wall. They fired back and forth for a few moments, turning the interior of this once elegant, futuristic ship into a mess of scattered sparks from the broken circuity and scorched, smoking metal – there were even holes riddled everywhere, thanks to Nero's weapon.

Spock noticed his communicator on the floor between the pilot's seat and the place where he was currently hiding. The device must have fallen out of his pocket when he moved to take cover. Realizing that he could no longer confiscate this illegally obtained ship, and that he would not last much longer against Nero's superior weapon, Spock did the only logical thing remaining.

"Computer, execute General Order Thirteen," he ordered.

 _"General Order Thirteen. Self-destruct sequence confirmed. Ambassador Spock, if the ship's self-destruct is armed, the Red Matter will be ignited."_

"Understood," Spock acknowledged coldly, with determination.

After all, if it must be so, this wasn't such a bad way to die. He knew that without his communicator he couldn't contact the _Enterprise_ to beam him out. He also knew that since this ship was designed to be specifically operated by him (or rather, a future version of him), only he would be able to stop the ship's self-destruct once it was armed. And Spock had no intention of giving the 'abort' command.

" _Activating self-destruct in 59, 58, 57. . ."_

" _A captain cannot cheat death,"_ he had told Kirk earlier during the hearing at the Academy.

Now he realized that he might have been wrong about that, after all. Maybe a captain _could_ cheat death. James Kirk was proof of that, along with the other 800 survivors of the _Kelvin_ attack. George Kirk had died in line of duty, but he had saved all those lives in the process. It all depended on how one looked at it. It was all a matter of perspective.

Spock further realized that the _Kobayashi Maru_ test held yet another flaw; every cadet going into the simulation was _always_ aware that it was _just_ a simulation, and therefore the purpose – for a prospective captain to experience fear in the face of certain death – was impossible to achieve. At least, not fully.

No simulation could have prepared Spock for what he was feeling right now – the myriad of emotions that he had experienced upon his planet's destruction only several hours ago . . . and more. Fear was among them, yes, but also anger, revenge, fierce protectiveness, and unflinching determination. His death would not simply be a murder committed by a raving lunatic in the name of vendetta that made no logical sense whatsoever – Spock had made the choice to sacrifice himself to save others.

 _Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few_ , Spock reminded himself.

 _Or the one_ , he supposed, since he had calculated the successful departure of his comrades from the _Narada_ to be at 91.72%.

This must have been what George Kirk was feeling when he had sacrificed himself to save the remaining crew of the _U.S.S. Kelvin –_ his wife and newborn son among them. Maybe both George and James Kirk were onto something when they refused to believe in no-win scenarios. For the universe did not operate according to simplistic notions like 'success' and 'failure' – there was always a spectrum of perspectives in-between to be considered. It all depended on how 'success' and 'winning' were defined.

All these thoughts went through Spock's head with lightning speed as he faced both his end and the murderer of his people. He fired towards the wall Nero was hiding behind until the Romulan's scream of pain indicated a successful hit. The weapon fell out of Nero's hands with a rather loud thud. At the same moment, familiar golden threads enveloped Spock and he found himself in the transporter room of the _Enterprise_ once more, the sound of Nero screaming his name in rage ringing in his ears.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.42 – U.S.S. Enterprise_**

After spending time inside the dimly lit _Narada_ , being back aboard the bright and welcoming _Enterprise_ physically hurt Kirk's eyes. He quickly glanced around to confirm that Spock had returned with them before seeking out Scotty behind the terminal.

"Nice timing, Scotty!" he congratulated the engineer, stepping off the transporter pad with Hermione – the barely conscious Pike limping between them.

The engineer laughed joyously in response – two other red-shirted technicians next to him similarly giddy – and said proudly, "I've never beamed five people from two targets onto one pad before!"

At that moment, the doors hissed open and McCoy, Uhura, and several people clad in white sprinted inside the room.

"Jim!" McCoy exclaimed in relief.

"Bones!"

"I got him," said McCoy, taking Kirk's place to support Pike.

Someone else from the medical team slotted into Hermione's place, and the captain was rushed towards the Medbay.

"Nurse Chapel!" shouted McCoy as he continued on his way towards the medical.

A blonde woman with striking blue eyes approached Harry and Hermione and addressed them respectfully, "Sir, Miss, I am to escort you to the Medical Bay and look after you. Doctor Bennet is expecting you there. Doctor McCoy's orders."

"Thank you, Christine," smiled Hermione. The two of them had worked together earlier, when Hermione was helping in the Medbay. "Please, do call me Hermione. And this is Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry," said Christine with a warm smile.

"Pleasure to meet you as well," responded Harry politely.

They turned towards the Medbay, while Kirk, Spock, and Uhura headed for the Bridge.

* * *

"Keptin, ze enemy ship is losing power!" announced Chekov with a smile from behind his terminal as soon as the doors to the Bridge slid open, admitting Kirk and Spock with Uhura following closely behind. "Zeir shields are down, sir."

"Hail them now."

"Aye!"

No one on the Bridge really understood why their Acting Captain had made a request to face their enemy one last time – especially when the _Narada_ 's destruction was imminent, given that they could now see the results of the Red Matter particles igniting. There was now a spinning disk of pure black right in the center of the once deemed-indestructible enemy ship, tearing it apart deck by deck. Kirk's request to contact Nero was especially confusing when taking into account his earlier order to 'haul ass' if the Red Matter ignited.

However, no one questioned the young Captain's order – not when his earlier decisions to accept Hermione's help and go after Nero had resulted in victory. And if he wanted to face the murderer of his father, the legend who had made the Kirk name known to _everyone_ in Starfleet, one last time – then so be it.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the _U.S.S. Enterprise –_ " started Kirk with firm authority, standing before the image of Nero in the view screen – Spock stood next to him in the typical position of a second-in-command.

" _Where is your ship?"_ demanded Nero, interrupting him. _"Show yourselves!"_

"You aren't exactly in a position to make demands. And our location is for us to know and you to never find out," was Kirk's arrogant response. Then he continued, "Your ship is compromised, and too close to the singularity to survive without assistance – assistance which we are willing to provide."

Spock turned his back to the screen and asked Kirk quietly, bewilderment registering in his voice, "Captain, what are you doing?"

"Showing them compassion may be the only way to earn peace with the Romulus," Kirk murmured in response, also turning his back to the screen to converse with his science officer. "It's logic Spock. I thought you'd like that."

"No, not really," Spock confessed. "Not this time. He destroyed my home planet. As a human might say: to hell with logic –"

" _I would rather suffer the end of Romulus a thousand times,"_ interrupted Nero – the transmission getting more and more choppy as the _Narada_ was consumed by the black hole – making Kirk and Spock turn to face him. _"I would rather die in_ agony _than accept assistance from you!"_

"You got it!" smirked Kirk, before he and Spock turned as one to move towards their stations. "Arm phasers. Fire everything we've got!"

"Yes, sir!" Sulu confirmed, his fingers dancing around the terminal in order to lock on his target and pull up the weapons controls.

The _Enterprise_ 's phasers hammered relentlessly against the weakening _Narada_ , tearing it further apart as the enemy ship began to disintegrate and collapse into the nothingness of the black hole. As soon as the _Narada_ was swallowed completely, the alarm blared and a warning message lit up on the screen, flashing red – ' ** _Gravitational pull'_**.

The _Enterprise_ was now being slowly sucked in towards the black hole.

"Sulu, let's go home!" ordered Kirk.

"Yes, sir!" Sulu responded, his hands already a blur of frenzied movements across his terminal.

The _Enterprise_ shook all around them, her engines and nacelles roaring and blasting at full power. But instead of tearing through space and seeing the stars churning past, they remained almost perfectly static.

"Why aren't we at warp?" demanded Kirk over all the noise.

"Ve are, sir," responded Chekov.

"Kirk to Engineering. Get us out of here, Scotty!"

" _You bet your ass, Capt'n!"_ Scotty shouted back through the connection. A few moments later he reported, _"Capt'n, we are caught in the gravity well! It's got us!"_

"Go to maximum warp!" ordered Kirk. "Push it!"

" _I'm givin' 'er all she's got, Capt'n!"_

Cracks began to appear on the ceiling of the Bridge, lights flickering in and out as the already stressed-out officers, white-knuckled and frantic, did everything in their power to keep the ship from following the _Narada_ into the void.

"All she's got isn't good enough!" Kirk yelled over the cacophony of sirens and the chaos of sounds. "What else you got?"

" _Okay, if we eject the core and detonate, the blast could be enough to push us away,_ " Scotty shouted out his desperate idea. _"I cannae promise anything, though!"_

The view screen, made of several inches thick transparent aluminum, fractured. Multiple cracks spread across its surface, the whole thing threatening to fall apart completely under the stress.

"DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" shouted Kirk urgently.

Scotty didn't waste any time. He ordered the area clear, ejected the warp core, and primed it to ignite within the black hole.

The explosion was silent, but very powerful. A wave of pale-blue fire erupted from the epicenter and engulfed them from behind, pushing them forwards on a wave of pure force.

Everyone – numb, wide eyed, and exhausted – watched through the cracked view screen as they put more and more distance between themselves and the explosion that was now consuming the black hole. After a few moments, a collective sigh could be heard on the Bridge as everyone slumped back in their seats in relief.

Kirk spun the captain's chair to face Spock, who offered a nod of solidarity in response. Kirk then spun back to exchange a smile with Sulu and Chekov, and chuckled softly. The Acting Captain's reaction seemed to be contagious, as small disbelieving chuckles resounded throughout the entire Bridge.

" _That same crew emerged victorious many times when faced with crises,"_ Kirk remembered Spock Prime's words.

They'd done it. It was over. Mission was accomplished. Nero and his threat were no more.

* * *

As soon as Harry and Hermione walked through the doors of the Medbay, they were greeted by Dr. Andrew Bennet. He guided them towards two nearest empty biobeds and got to work on Harry's injuries immediately, while Nurse Chapel helped Hermione. There was no sign of Dr. McCoy, and they were told that he was in surgery with Captain Pike.

The witch and wizard, feeling completely drained – to the point where they probably couldn't even manage the simplest of spells – watched as the Medical Bay buzzed with activity, doctors and nurses tending to their patients as the ship rattled and shook violently. People shouted back and forth over the noise, running here and there, while several objects fell to the floor – some with a thud and a clatter, some with the sound of shattering glass.

Despite the general atmosphere of chaos, the personnel continued performing admirably.

Once things calmed down and Dr. Bennet – a man of a very few words – and Nurse Chapel had finished with Harry and Hermione and moved on to their next task, the two friends were left alone. They were seated side by side on Harry's bed, located somewhere in the less busy part of the Medical Bay, holding hands.

"I'm not sure if I like this space travel," Harry said quietly. "Doesn't seem very safe, you know?"

"Says the man who flies on a broomstick and chases after criminals – the very definition of 'unsafe' for me," chuckled Hermione softly. Her expression turned serious as she asked, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"I feel fine, actually. Whatever they gave me for pain is working really well. I'm just tired. Very tired. And you?"

"Yes, I feel like I could sleep for several days after this," she responded with a warm smile, looking into his green eyes.

She then suddenly turned to give Harry a bone-crushing hug, whispering furiously into his ear, "Do you have any idea how worried I was, you prat!"

"Ow," he winced, and Hermione immediately let him go.

"Erm . . . I have an idea . . ." he smiled sheepishly, but his expression became slightly worried. "Er . . . Hermione, how are we going to get out of this one? We didn't just travel to a different country. We seem to have travelled in time, as well as in space! How will we ever get back?"

"I don't know yet, Harry," she responded tiredly, putting her head on his uninjured shoulder. "We'll figure something out. We always do, don't we? Now isn't the time for that though."

After several moments of comfortable silence, she got up from the bed, "Why don't you rest for now? You're barely keeping your eyes open."

"And you?" he asked, allowing her to guide him into a reclining position. "You need rest as well."

"My bed's right next to yours."

"You aren't planning on going anywhere, are you?"

"Of course not, Harry," she let out a small laugh. "We're on a starship! Where do you think I could go?"

"Oh, I don't know. A library? If there is one on this ship?" Harry suggested, shrugging his shoulders, and winced at the pain.

He suddenly snatched Hermione's hand into his, "I know this might sound terrible, but I am glad you are here with me."

"And why would that be so terrible?"

"Well, I somehow managed to drag you into this now. It's my fault . . ."

"Listen to me, Harry Potter. If it is anyone's fault, then it would be Dolohov's! And the Death Eaters'. But not yours –"

"Hermione, if I didn't hesitate, if I just . . ." Harry trailed off, taking a deep breath. "I'm an Auror, Hermione. I'm _authorized_ to use the Unforgivables. And I just . . . If I had done _it_ , you and I wouldn't be here right now. So, you see, it _is_ my fault . . ."

"Stop, Harry!" said Hermione, taking hold of both of his hands. "Just stop! You need to stop doing that to yourself! You can't know for sure what would and wouldn't have happened. We might have still ended up here anyway. . . And you can't dwell on the past – it's done, you can't change that. You can only change the future. So, consider this as something to learn from . . ."

Harry nodded, and smiled fondly at his friend, "Everything is a learning experience for you, isn't it?"

"As it should be. For everyone," responded Hermione firmly.

Then her features softened as she continued, "Harry, people change. They've got to. If they didn't, they would spend the rest of their lives making the same mistakes and fighting the same battles over and over again. Just remember one thing, though. You've got a good, kind, brave, and loving heart, Harry. And that's something you don't want changing."

A small blush appeared on Harry's face, as he nodded, "I'll keep that in mind."

He let out a sigh and said, "Well, at least I didn't drag Ron into this one."

At the mention of Ron, Hermione's heart clenched painfully, and she looked down at her engagement ring. A new idea began to form in her mind, but she decided to keep it to herself for now – at least until she could do more research and verify her assumptions. It wouldn't do to give her friend any false hopes.

Instead, she pulled the blankets over Harry and said, "It'll be alright, Harry. You'll see."

"Will you stay close to me?"

"Always, Harry. Always," she said, removing his glasses, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes, and kissing him gently on the forehead. "Now close your eyes and go to sleep."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 11

 ** _Stardate 2258.44 – U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant_**

" _Acting Chief Engineer's Log. Stardate two-two-five-eight-point-four-four . . . or point-four-five? Argh . . . whatever. Does anyone actually ever listen to these things?"_ Scotty spoke, his speech hindered by a small tricorder stuck between his teeth.

Currently, he was tinkering with the equipment on the engineering deck, trying to remove a fried plasma relay.

" _I dunno exactly how many days it's been since we saved the galaxy from a mad Romulan with a badass pointy ship and barely escaped the grip of a spontaneous black hole. All I know is that I've been stuck in Engineering all this time, trying to revive the_ Enterprise _in hopes of getting us back to Earth. Actually, the nearest starbase would be a good start. An astonishingly well-equipped one, preferably, since our well-endowed lady is now a mess of broken parts and fried circuits."_

Scotty succeeded in removing the fried plasma relay and tossed it to Lieutenant Boma, who was working nearby. "Add that to the pile, will ya, laddie?"

"Yes, sir," Boma responded as he moved to follow the order.

"Aye then," Scotty started, standing up from his position on the floor and brushing off his pants.

He turned to address the red-shirted officers of the engineering division, "Ya all make yourselves useful and don't touch the impulse engines. At all. And I'll go and talk to the Capt'n. Be right back," he finished, leaving the engineering deck and heading towards the Bridge.

* * *

Christopher Pike woke up in one of the private isolation rooms of the Medbay on the second day of their return journey. A soft whirring sound had woken him up: a disheveled and rather tired-looking Doctor Leonard McCoy was running another one of his innumerable scans, brow furrowed and mouth turned down at one side.

The white of the room was a shock of brightness against Pike's retinas, rather overwhelming after the perpetual half-night of the _Narada_ . . .

The _Narada_. As the memories of his time on that ship came crashing down on him, Pike swallowed hard and tried to banish them. He'd survived. That was all that mattered right now. He was going to be grateful for that and count it as a win . . .

"Welcome back, Captain," greeted McCoy, noticing that his patient was now awake.

"Thank you, doctor," responded Pike weakly, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was hit by a bus. And then someone knocked me over the head with a frying pan," responded Pike, trying not to think about how many sedatives and painkillers were currently coursing through his bloodstream.

"Had a lot of experience with that, Captain?" asked McCoy sarcastically, putting down his bioscanner and picking up a PADD to make a few notes.

Pike merely gave the doctor a look and asked, "How long was I out?"

"About a day and a half. We've had you in surgery for about five hours, give or take – try not to move too much. You're still recovering from a massive shock to your nervous system – not to mention broken bones and a few internal injuries. You're gonna feel somewhat groggy and very tired for a while, but that's perfectly normal. You'll recover soon enough and be good as new. You'll be running marathons, climbing mountains, skydiving . . . or whatever you actually like, soon enough."

"Good to know. Could have been much worse, if it hadn't been for Harry Potter. Nero was planning to use a Centaurian Slug on me to get the information that he needed." McCoy blanched at the mention of the parasitic creature, and Pike continued, "I take it, judging by your reaction, that you've heard of them?"

The doctor nodded, looking up from his PADD. "Yes. The Klingons use 'em to interrogate their prisoners. Nasty buggers. Doctor Philips, our xenobiology instructor, briefly mentioned them at one point."

"Well, thanks to Harry, you didn't have to extract one of those out of me," said Pike.

And unspoken, the rest of the sentence hung in the air between them: _If I would have even still been here for you to perform the extraction._

After a brief silence, Pike asked, "How are they, by the way? Harry and Hermione?"

Something (confusion, guilt maybe?) flashed across McCoy's features as he responded, "Fine. Nothing's terribly wrong with them from the medical standpoint – a dislocated shoulder, concussion, exhaustion. Everything's mostly healed, really. However, for reasons unknown to me, they're still out cold."

"What? You said I'd only been out a day and a half, right? Shouldn't they be up and about by now?"

"Yes, they should. But they aren't. And I'd like to know why. Doctor Bennet performed a full medical exam and took a blood sample from them. There are a few odd quirks in their DNA. They're still perfectly human, like you and I – just a bit . . . different. Their DNA doesn't match anything from the Federation databases.

"And they're perfectly healthy, as far as we can tell," he added. "Some good news there, at least. They're in the room next to yours, by the way."

Pike nodded and asked, "Do you think that these 'quirks' in their DNA are what allow them to perform their so-called magic?"

"It is possible," answered McCoy, putting the PADD away.

"How long till I can leave this bed?"

"Well, I can't run you under the regenerators non-stop. Your body needs a break from it to recuperate. So, I would estimate a few more days before you should at least be able to get into an autochair."

Then, seeing that Pike was about to protest, he added, "Sorry, can't do more than that. If Granger were awake, she'd mend your bones up in seconds. As it is, you'll have to make do with my brand of magic," he finished, waving a bone regenerator at the Captain, as if it were a wand.

"In seconds, you say?" asked Pike, his tone disbelieving.

"Oh, yes. She was helping me here while you and Potter were on the _Narada_. The Sickbay was overflowing with injured crewmembers, plus the Vulcan refugees. For example, Ensign Petrovsky broke his arm during Nero's initial attack. So she knocked him out with a mild sedative, mended his bones, and sent him on his way back to Engineering – all in about thirty seconds. As far as Petrovsky is concerned, he didn't even have a broken arm."

"That's . . . that's good," said Pike, impressed. Mending broken bones in seconds – that was something that even their advanced medicine currently couldn't do.

"Yeah. We've been able to make some room here with her help," said McCoy, turning his attention to the readings over the biobed. "And we needed all the hands we could get."

Pike changed the subject, "Given the time that's passed, shouldn't we be back at Starbase 1 by now?"

"Well, we . . . ah . . . currently can't warp . . ."

"What happened?"

"Well, I don't know all the details, since I've mostly been stuck in Medbay, but from what I heard, our Acting Captain ordered the ejection and detonation of the warp core. The explosion stopped the _Enterprise_ from being sucked into the black hole that was created when the Red Matter ignited . . ."

"Spock ordered that?" Pike asked incredulously.

"Er, no, Jim Kirk did. Commander Spock resigned commission as acting captain due to being emotionally compromised . . . But that was only after he marooned Jim for perceived mutiny on some icebox of a planet, and the kid somehow miraculously reappeared on the _Enterprise_ with a Scottish engineer in tow . . ."

"For goodness' sake, I wasn't even gone an entire day!" groaned Pike, closing his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," said McCoy frowning at the biobed readings. "Your vitals are a little high."

"I wonder why," Pike said sarcastically. "Have you contacted Starfleet Command yet?"

"No, not yet. Subspace comms are still down. Spock and Chekov are overseeing repairs. They said we should have 'em back sometime tomorrow."

Pike nodded, and said, "Get me Kirk. I need to talk to him. I need a full report about what happened here from the moment I left the _Enterprise_. And no objections, McCoy. Put the hypo down," Pike said firmly, seeing that the good doctor had surreptitiously picked up what was most likely a sedative and seemed like he was about to put up a fight. "I just want to talk to him."

"Look here, sir, you may be the captain, but as this ship's doctor, I insist that you –"

At that moment, the door opened, and James Kirk himself poked his head into the room.

"Ah, speak of the devil," muttered McCoy.

"Sir, you're finally awake!" Kirk said, fully stepping into the room.

"How very observant of you, Kirk," responded Pike dryly, a hint of amusement in his voice as he observed the Acting Captain, catching the evidence of recent bruising on his face and around his neck.

"Jesus, Jim, did you get into another fight? Or is this still from beforehand? Why didn't you come and find me sooner?" McCoy showered Kirk with questions as he grabbed a tricorder and crossed the room in a couple long strides to wave it in his friend's face. "Hm . . . it's mostly superficial, actually," he continued, poking a finger in Jim's ribs.

Kirk winced and swatted the doctor's hand away. "Stop it, Bones! You can get your hands on me later. I'm kind of busy. I just had a free moment and wanted to see if the Captain was awake –"

"I know, I know. You avoid the Medbay like a plague. You probably wouldn't have come down here otherwise . . . unless hell froze over and you needed an extra blankie –"

"How are they?" Kirk cut him off, nodding towards the room next door.

"Still no change," sighed McCoy, turning his gaze back to the tricorder. "Well, there's nothing life-threateningly wrong with you at the moment, thankfully. But I swear to God, Jim, if you don't come and see me later, I will find you, knock you out, drag you here, and then run you under the regenerators until you get sick of them. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it, Bones. Besides, Hermione already did some healing magic on me earlier, when we were still on Nero's ship, so I'm fine –"

"That explains it then –"

"And didn't you say it was mostly superficial?"

" _Mostly_ being the key word here –"

Pike cleared his throat to get their attention. This was starting to get out of hand. "Doctor, if you would, please?"

"All right, but don't take too long. You need to rest. And call me if you need anything. I won't be far." With that, McCoy left the room, patting his friend on the shoulder on the way out.

"A good friend of yours, I take it?" asked Pike, raising one eyebrow.

He remembered seeing them on the same shuttle with recruits leaving Riverside Shipyard, seeing them both from time to time at the Academy together, seeing their names together on the reports from Kirk's three attempts at the _Kobayashi Maru_ . . . And then there was that incident on the Bridge on the way to Vulcan. Cadets of different divisions and different ages rarely bonded so deeply. Pike, who had paid close attention to Kirk as his mentor throughout his Academy years, was surprised that he hadn't known about their friendship. As far as Pike knew, Kirk's best friends were Gary Mitchell and Lee Kelso – both of whom were on Command track with Kirk at the Academy. Apparently, Pike had been wrong . . .

"The best," nodded Kirk. "Sir, I am aware that he violated regulations by bringing me aboard the _Enterprise_ while I was on academic suspension. I would like to take full responsibility –"

Pike stopped him by simply putting one hand up. "That's all irrelevant right now, especially since I pretty much authorized your presence aboard this ship by promoting you to my First Officer. What I'm very much interested in _now_ is finding out exactly what you did with the authority given to you."

Kirk cleared his throat. "Understood, sir. Where would you like me to begin?"

"From the beginning."

"Starting with the space jump?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, proceed."

Kirk was somewhat startled at the mention of his rank, and looked down reflexively at the blank black sleeves of the uniform undershirt he was still wearing. Pike was pretty sure that it wasn't the same undershirt in which the young man barged into the Bridge demanding for the ship to be stopped . . . The Captain briefly wondered why Kirk hadn't put on his command uniform by now . . .

Kirk gave his head a shake, cleared his throat once more, and began his report.

Pike let him get everything out without interruptions. He limited himself to frowning, raising an eyebrow, or narrowing his eyes when Kirk's explanations got vague or unbelievable. Then again, given the recent events, the very definition of 'unbelievable' had to be reconsidered.

Kirk got especially vague when it came to describing his time on Delta Vega and the identity of the elderly Vulcan who helped him.

When Pike asked him to elaborate, Kirk said, "Only if you promise me not to tell Spock about him."

"Lieutenant, I can just _order_ you to answer my question," Pike said firmly.

"With all due respect, sir, I promised. I promised him I wouldn't reveal his identity to Spock, and I'm willing to deal with any consequences to keep that promise."

Pike was taken aback. Such a display of loyalty directed toward a near-stranger, whose request was likely to cause Kirk a great deal of difficulty, was something new in his young protégé's behavior.

"Alright, I promise that Spock won't find out about this Vulcan's identity from me," agreed Pike. "Now tell me."

"It was Spock, sir. Not the Spock that's on the _Enterprise_ right now, but an older one. Much older. He came from the future, following Nero through the black hole."

" _Another_ time traveler?"

"It appears so, yes. He's 129 years from the future, and so were Nero and his crew."

"And this older Spock asked you not to tell himself about – himself?" asked Pike, slightly confused. "Why?"

"Apparently, it's one of the rules of time-traveling – you aren't allowed to know about or be seen by your past self."

Pike assumed that Kirk hadn't even delivered half of his report, and already the Captain's headache went from bad to worse. Maybe he should have listened to McCoy and left this conversation for later.

So, for now, he said, "Understood, Lieutenant. Continue." He'd question Kirk more about these rules of time-travel later.

Kirk resumed his report, astonishing Pike even more – not just with the facts of the report itself, but with the way that said report was delivered. It was not merely a self-centered narration of all the great things that _James Tiberius Kirk_ had done to save the galaxy, but rather the report of a commander who took great pride in his subordinates. It was a report filled with 'we', 'they', 'he', and 'she', instead of 'I'.

Pike studied his protégé intently. In front of him wasn't the cocky, immature, attention-seeking kid he had met three years ago in a dive in Riverside, Iowa. He wasn't the same kid who still smugly thought he had won the fight, even with napkins sticking from his nostrils to stop his nose from bleeding. This wasn't the arrogant kid who had walked the Academy grounds as if he owned the place. This wasn't even the same kid who, being brought on trial in front of the entire Academy for having cheated on a test, still thought he had done nothing wrong.

That kid, in fact, appeared to be growing up. Finally. About damn time, too.

It seemed maturity, much like lightning, could strike anyone unexpectedly – at the most peculiar moments, under the most unusual circumstances.

Once Kirk had finished his report, Pike asked, "So, if you had to do it all over again, what would you have done differently? Every experience that we have in life, every situation we encounter – they all should be considered as a means for self-improvement. So, what's the lesson to be learned here?"

Confirming Pike's assessment of Kirk's maturity, his Lieutenant didn't insist that he'd done everything correctly or that there wasn't anything he would have done differently. Instead, he said, "Well, in retrospect, I think that several of my actions were impulsive and poorly thought out. Particularly my argument with Commander Spock on the Bridge –"

"Argument," scoffed Pike. "You call that 'an argument'? Insubordination plus an attempted assault on a commanding officer do not add up to a simple argument, Kirk," commented the Captain sharply.

"Instead of fulfilling your duties as a First Officer and advising your Captain about what course of action should be taken, you outright clashed with him. And not only did you express your opinion in a disrespectful manner, you did so in front of every crew member present on the Bridge at that time, which only made it certain that he _wouldn't_ listen to anything you had to say. Maybe if you had pulled him off to the side and presented your 'argument' in a proper way, he would have listened to you.

"And since we are talking about 'impulsive' and 'poorly thought out' decisions here, why don't we talk about your decision to jump off the drill after Lieutenant Sulu? Was it really necessary? If the _Enterprise_ had the ability to beam back the both of you in mid-fall, they surely would have been able to catch Sulu alone. And if they _had_ failed, then you would have deprived the ship both of its Helmsman _and_ First Officer _at the same time._ "

"Sir, I couldn't let Sulu fall off that platform alone, just like I couldn't let the _Enterprise_ abandon Earth and you and Potter, or send Spock and Hermione to the _Narada_ without my support . . . I couldn't do that. That's just not who I am. I don't leave anyone behind – it's not in my nature. Sir," finished Kirk, stubbornly staring at the instrumentation above the biobed, mouth set in a firm line, fists clenched, and his back as straight as an arrow.

The Captain didn't miss the use of Granger's first name instead of her last, now and during the report, as he took a moment to consider Kirk's words.

"And yet, you don't even realize how fortunate you were to survive falling off that platform or getting through your little trip to the _Narada_ intact – not then, not now."

"I do, sir. I really do –"

"You volunteered yourself to be a guinea pig for a previously untested attempt at transwarp beaming! What if the calculations of this brilliant physicist of yours had been off by just a little bit more than his estimated margin of error accounted for, and you rematerialized in the vacuum of space? Or what if _both_ of you had ended up inside the coolant tank?"

"Respectfully, sir, but what was I supposed to do? I didn't have any choice. There was too much at stake, and I couldn't do anything about it while I was stuck on that planet. If I hadn't taken that chance, nothing else would have mattered. Ever. I leapt without looking, yes, but I had to at least try!"

"But you wouldn't have been marooned and put in that position in the first place, had you behaved yourself with Spock!"

Kirk winced at Pike's tone and wondered how it was possible for him to be so intimidating even while hospitalized.

"And hiding the ship with a _spell_?" continued Pike. "How did you even know it would work?"

"I didn't, sir. I just trusted my instincts. I didn't have any particular plan other than to somehow catch up to Nero and stop him. I was desperate and I was willing to listen to suggestions no matter who they came from or how outrageous. I think if someone from housekeeping or maintenance had come up with something, I would have listened to them with as much respect and attention as I gave to the ship's tactical team. Hermione's suggestion made sense and it was the best one we had under the circumstances . . ."

"Made sense?" echoed Pike, shaking his head and taking note of the way the young man pronounced the witch' name – somehow, with fondness.

Knowing Kirk, Pike would have to keep a close eye on that.

"Nothing about magic makes any sense, Kirk. You could have gotten every single person under your command killed, and that would have been the end of the only ship in the entire fleet that could have stopped that madman. Would you have believed Miss Granger if she'd said that she would turn the ship into a flying pumpkin to avoid detection by the _Narada_?"

"Yes, sir, I would have. If she convinced me that becoming a flying pumpkin could save us all – I would have," responded Kirk firmly. "And since we are still here to discuss it after the fact, I do stand by my decision to trust her."

Pike nodded and let go of this particular issue. After all, he himself had put similar trust in Harry – a complete stranger.

He moved onto another topic, "And how about your decision to fire on the _Narada_ after the Red Matter was ignited? Was it really necessary? You spent precious time doing that – time that you did not have. If it weren't for this brilliant engineer of yours, we'd have followed that monstrosity into the black hole!" finished Pike, slipping into a coughing fit and wincing at the pain that it caused.

Kirk quickly crossed the room, poured a glass of water and offered it to Pike. "Sir, should I call for Dr. McCoy?"

Pike shook his head in answer and indicated for Kirk to continue.

"Sir, I ordered to fire on them because I wanted to be really sure that Nero would be gone for good. I didn't want another 'lightning storm in space' manifesting even further back in the past and wreaking all sorts of havoc there. We were barely able to deal with them here, I don't think our predecessors would have had any chance."

Pike, suddenly terrified by the thought, merely nodded. A tense silence settled in the room, as he studied the young man, while Kirk turned his attention back to the instrumentation above the bed.

"Well, Lieutenant, I _am_ glad that you finally pulled your head out of your ass." Pike took a particular pleasure at seeing the look on Kirk's face at this comment, wishing he could take a picture of it.

"You know, it's all very well to take chances, trust your instincts and leap without looking – but the trick is to stand by your decisions later, regardless of what happens. You just showed me that you could do that. Consider this a test that you have passed, First Officer Kirk. Acting Captain Kirk," Pike finished more gently, without any sternness.

"Sir, if I may – why did you make me a First Officer? Not that I'm complaining . . ."

"For the same reason I dared you to enlist in Starfleet back in Iowa. You were born for this, Jim – for command. I could see it then, and I can see it now. I'd trust you with my life in the face of Klingon warbirds – or even crazy Romulans from the future. Of course, there are things you have to work on. I hope our little discussion here will help you with that."

Pike paused for a moment, looking Kirk in the eye, and said, "And if I can, I plan on getting this field promotion confirmed for you, at least as far as a commander."

"Wait . . . _What_?" Kirk clearly hadn't expected that. Being kicked right out of the Academy and sent back to Iowa, being locked up somewhere as a punishment – anything, really. But not a promotion.

"In light of everything that has happened, Starfleet is going to need all the talented captains and first officers they can get their hands on."

"I – I don't know what to say," Kirk said, struggling for words. "Thank you, sir."

"Just don't let this go to your head. You might get constipated on account of being so full of yourself – your ego is big enough as it is," Pike said, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

Kirk looked affronted. He wanted to shoot something back, Pike could tell. To his credit, the Lieutenant restrained himself. Another sign of maturity.

"And remember one thing," continued Pike. "If you go down this path, it's not just about you anymore – and it never will be again. Every decision you make will affect the hundreds of lives under your command. For every risk that you take, you _will_ be held accountable. Do you think you're ready for that, son? Think it through. Be sure of your answer."

"Yes," responded Kirk almost immediately. "Yes, sir. I think I am."

"Then go on. Let your doctor friend patch you up and get some rest. You look dead on your feet."

Kirk nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, and James?" Pike's voice stopped Kirk in his tracks. "Get a proper uniform on. You deserve it, son," he finished with a smile.

"Yes, sir," said Kirk, smiling back at him before leaving the room.

Pike let out a sigh and picked up a PADD from the small table near the biobed. Somehow, his frustration with Kirk had made his grogginess go away for the time being. He decided to use the surge of energy to look over the ship's logs and reports from the last couple of days and see for himself what the crew – composed primarily of flash-promoted cadets – had accomplished. What he had discovered exceeded any expectations he may have had.

The reports and logs were thorough and well-composed – a bit disordered, but that was understandable. The crew had performed admirably, better than any captain could have possibly asked of them under current circumstances.

In addition to the Elders, a number of other citizens of Vulcan had managed to survive the catastrophe that had eradicated their home world. Most had been working in bases on T'Khul, the Vulcan system's third world, and had been beamed aboard the _Enterprise_ after Vulcan's destruction. Confused and ignorant of the details that had orphaned them, many were traumatized in ways that non-Vulcans could not understand. Many had been brought aboard in haste and had suffered injuries as a result, which had led to an overflowing Medbay. Living quarters on the ship had become crowded, and her life-support facilities increasingly strained. But no one complained. When a request was put out for those willing to share their living quarters with the survivors, every member of the crew had promptly volunteered. Some crewmembers had even moved in with their friends and turned their private quarters over to the Vulcans.

The total number of survivors was pitiful. There were Vulcans elsewhere, of course, safely scattered throughout the Federation and its allied systems – on missions and at embassies on other worlds, working on distant scientific outposts and other starships . . . However, Commander Spock had estimated that of Vulcan's six billion inhabitants, no more than ten thousand had survived. Only _ten thousand_ out of six billion . . .

As Pike continued reviewing the reports, a few officers in particular caught his attention.

Lieutenant Uhura, proficient in 83% of official Federation languages and regional dialects, frankly put the current chief communications officer to shame with her efficiency, thoroughness and skills. Pike remembered her as the same cadet who received a gold rating for xenolinguistic skills in all categories, giving the Academy first place over Kyoto and MIT at the Oxford Linguistics Invitational a few months ago.

Then there was Lieutenant Sulu, who had a doctorate in astrophysics and a master's certificate in interstellar navigation; he had been able to not only perform complicated emergency evasive maneuvers upon arriving at Vulcan to save the _Enterprise_ and her crew, but also move the ship into the exact coordinates needed for Hermione Granger's spell to work. This twenty-something recent graduate of the Academy – despite his initial embarrassing oversight when warping into the crisis (which had actually ended up saving all of their lives) – was regarded by many as one of the best pilots in the Federation for good reason.

Ensign Chekov, who four years ago had become the second-youngest freshman cadet in Starfleet Academy history, displayed prodigious talent as navigator, was a chief of tactical at the age of seventeen, and showed great transporter expertise.

Dr. McCoy, top of his class in anatomical and forensic pathology, had bravely shouldered the responsibilities of a CMO and successfully carried out his duties with only two-thirds of the staff he should have had. He had worked tirelessly and provided care not only to the injured crewmembers of the _Enterprise_ who had survived the _Narada_ 's original devastating attack, but also to all the Vulcan refugees.

Lieutenant Commander Scott, whose appearance via transwarp beaming was rather questionable and astonishing, had performed several other feats that would be considered impossible by some – like ejecting and detonating the ship's warp core so that the resulting explosion would push them away from a black hole, and transporting five people from two different targets onto one pad _without_ any injuries.

Commander Spock, one of the most distinguished graduates of the Academy of all time, had upheld his duty to the best of his abilities in the face of unimaginable loss. Despite their diametrically opposed personalities and differences, he had then followed the man he had every reason to mistrust into the enemy ship – and furthermore, he had been prepared to sacrifice himself to save the rest of the galaxy.

Lieutenant Kirk, currently Acting Captain, had been able to overcome his many shortcomings and fulfill Pike's dare to outdo his father. George Kirk had been Captain of the _U.S.S. Kelvin_ for twelve minutes, and he had saved eight hundred lives; the lives that James Kirk had saved since assuming the command of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ could be numbered in the billions. Pike's life included.

The best and finest that the Academy could produce, indeed.

And then there were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, who weren't even members of Starfleet. They had literally appeared out of thin air on the Bridge of the _Enterprise_ while the ship was preparing to jump into warp, and had consequently played a central role in saving Earth, as well as the rest of the Federation. With their skills and expertise . . . if they were to enlist in Starfleet and join the _Enterprise_ , the crew would be unstoppable. The whole galaxy would tremble.

But he couldn't think like that. He had promised them he would get them home. And he'd be damned if he didn't even try.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.45 - U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant_**

The subspace comms were repaired on the third day of the _Enterprise's_ journey back home. As per Pike's orders, Uhura informed him the moment they were operational. Still in the Medbay, using the screen attached to the arm of the biobed, Pike made a call to the old friend who had talked him into joining Starfleet.

" _Thank God, Chris!"_ exclaimed Admiral Alexander Marcus of Starfleet Command as soon as he saw Pike's face. " _You're alive."_

"Fortunately," Pike smiled imperceptibly.

 _"We haven't heard anything from you for days. Your transponder signal was lost, just like with the other ships . . . and Vulcan . . . Well, there is no Vulcan now. We thought the worst, Chris."_

"I know, Alex. It's a damn miracle, really," said Pike. "What do you know so far?"

 _"Much less than you do, I imagine. We lost all contact with you and the other ships that left with you on that mission to Vulcan. I'd like to hear everything, Chris."_

Pike started his report, and Marcus listened to him without interruption until the very end, his facial expression conveying all the shock, grief, disbelief, and astonishment that could be expected.

"And now we're pretty much in the middle of nowhere. With no warp capabilities, damaged and barely functioning impulse engines, and power in the lowest ranges of still-functional levels. We were nearly torn apart by that black hole. The crew is working hard on repairs, but we'll definitely be needing some assistance," said Pike, finishing his report.

 _"Well, that's a one hell of a report, Chris. I find the whole thing rather difficult to believe."_

"Difficult or not, believe it – because it's true. You know me, I wouldn't lie to you, Alex."

 _"Of course,_ " nodded Marcus. _"And as for Kirk, I don't know if I'm more tempted to award the kid a medal or kick him out of the Academy and tell him to never come back. I know about his hearing. And have you seen his disciplinary record? In his three years at the Academy he's been involved in no less than eleven fights, and earned two official reprimands and twenty-four detentions. It's a miracle he hasn't been expelled, really. And that's not to mention the rumours that are going around the Academy, and his reputation with the female cadets."_

"Never took you for someone who was interested in rumours, Alex," Pike said tersely.

 _"As you know, I have a daughter in the freshman year. So, yes, I was interested in those particular rumours. You'd be too, if you had a daughter."_

"I know what you mean. I really do –"

 _"That's not even including his latest stunt with the_ Kobayashi Maru _!"_ continued Marcus in agitation, cutting Pike off.

"Kirk can be arrogant, stubborn, headstrong and impetuous, has a blatant disregard for rules and authority, doesn't know how to lose, and his ego is the size of the Klingon Empire. Yes. Yes, I know, Alex. However, the incident with the _Kobayashi Maru_ aside, if you've looked at his file, you should also know that his academic record, unlike his disciplinary one, is impeccable. He has aced every test and simulation presented to him, is at the top of his class in several disciplines, is experienced enough to be assistant instructor in advanced hand-to-hand combat, and – for reasons God only knows – participates in Xenolinguistics club and serves as its treasurer. And if the people in the Xenoliguistics club deem him trustworthy enough to be their treasurer, then more people than just me think that he's got at least some semblance of responsibility – so I'm telling you, give the kid a chance. Besides, he's growing up. I saw it in his eyes. He looks like he aged a year for every hour I was away on the _Narada._ "

 _"You really do know him well,"_ Marcus observed.

"I'd like to think that I do," confirmed Pike. "Although he still manages to surprise me from time to time. Alex, he led this crew to victory. Of course, he had lots of help, but without a brilliant commander, an equally brilliant crew is nothing – just as without his crew, the commander is nothing. And you know that after everything that has happened, we'll need talented people like him. We already lost six captains and six first officers at Vulcan, not to mention their crews . . ."

" _Nine,_ " corrected Marcus gravely.

"What?" asked Pike in confusion.

" _We lost nine ships at Vulcan, Chris. Nine, not six._ Newton _,_ Armstrong _, and_ Odyssey _all intercepted the distress call as well. They were the first ones to arrive and be destroyed. There was nothing they could do. Nothing. Not even send out a warning, or a distress call of their own before being pulverized by this_ Nero _,_ " Marcus practically spat the Romulan's name.

The image of the _Mayflower_ 's saucer section – the largest remaining fragment of what turned out to be a nine-ship armada in that field of death, destruction, and chaos – floated to the forefront of Pike's mind. The horror of that instant came crashing down on him and he took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes to regain his composure. It had been worse, a lot worse than he thought. Even more lives lost.

After a brief pause, Marcus continued, " _Initially, they weren't even supposed to be there, you know_ . . ."

"Wrong place at the wrong time," said Pike quietly, opening his eyes.

" _And that's not counting two more Federation ships we lost that were patrolling the edge of the Neutral Zone_ . . ." At this, Pike paled considerably, his eyes widening with fear.

"Defiant _wasn't one of those ships, Chris,_ " Marcus reassured his friend. " _William and the ship he's on are safe and will be en route to Starbase 1 in a few days_."

"Ships are safe in spacedock, Alex," Pike shot back. "But, of course, that's not what ships are for. Who did we lose?"

"Challenger _and_ Wilson." Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples, and continued, " _The Romulans are claiming no official connection to any of the attacks, of course, but they're already using 'the expectation of unjust retaliation' as an excuse to stir up even more activity on their side of the Neutral Zone. And Klingons . . . well, you know the Klingons. Give them the slightest excuse and they all get trigger-happy. And what happened to their armada on Rura Penthe could be all the excuse they need to initiate hostilities with anyone they think is responsible – Romulan or not – as a way to recoup their lost honour. So, you see, Chris . . . peace in the galaxy is hanging by a very thin thread._ "

Uncomfortable silence settled between them as they contemplated potential consequences of all that had happened.

Marcus was the first to find his words again, " _These magic-users – are you sure about that, by the way?_ "

"Absolutely."

The admiral sighed. " _More time-travelers. God help us all._ "

"They've played a key role in defeating Nero. After everything they've done to help us, we owe it to them to at least try and get them back," responded Pike fervently. "We'll have to keep their abilities and such out of the press, though. I don't want them to have any problems with their government. They apparently have a Ministry of Magic that enforces a strict separation and secrecy between their world and ours. Don't know why, but there has to be a reason. Though, I'd like to know how they manage it, given that their magic is detectable by our technology."

" _Have you considered that this Ministry of Magic doesn't exist anymore? That maybe their people are all but gone? If what you say is true, and Potter and Granger really are 257 years from the past, then it's a possibility, isn't it?_ "

"I have considered it, yes. But still, until we find out more, I think we need to keep things known only to Starfleet Command."

" _I agree. I've been posted in London for a while, Chris. You know that. I know the city well. I'll personally accompany them there to find this Ministry of Magic of theirs. And we'll go from there."_

After a brief pause Marcus continued _, "Chris, if what you say about them is true, Starfleet could use them. We need people like them. You do realize that_ –"

"No, Alex," Pike cut him off firmly. "I promised that I would get them home."

" _And what if you can't? I mean, up until now we haven't_ had _any time-travelers, whether from the future or from the past. And now, all of a sudden, we have a slew of them. As this witch of yours said, time isn't something to meddle with. You've seen the result of what Nero did, meddling with time. Why not just leave things as they are? They'll have a good life here. I'll make sure of it_."

"But this isn't home for them, Alex. Imagine losing everything and everyone you know and finding yourself two and a half centuries in the future where no one and nothing is the same. How would you feel about it then?"

" _They have each other. They have us._ "

"Yes, but we're strangers to them. And what about their families, loved ones? They are both engaged to be married. And no, not to one another." Pike felt personally responsible for Harry and Hermione and fiercely protective of them – just as he did for everyone who had been entrusted to him. "To help them, we need to first find out exactly how they got here. It had something to do with some kind of a veil. If they can find this Ministry of theirs, they might be able to find help there. If not, then we'll have try and find something here, with our technology.

"Alex, we have to try. We owe it to them. Without their help, Nero would have gotten to Earth and destroyed it too. And you and I wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Marcus considered this for a moment and said, " _Of course, you're right. We'll do all that we can._ "

"Thank you, Alex. I knew I could trust you."

" _Of course. I'll have a separate shuttle ready and waiting for them at Starbase 1 to take them back to San Francisco. You guys should prepare yourselves for the media blitz that's sure to be waiting for you the second you arrive at spacedock. We don't need Potter and Granger to be mixed up in that._ "

"Thank you, Alex. And once I'm done dealing with the media, I'll take them off your hands."

" _Don't be ridiculous, Chris. It's no bother_."

"No, they're my responsibility."

" _I'm always here to help. You know that, right?_ "

"I do," Pike nodded, the gratitude in his voice unmistakable. "I'll make sure my crew is warned, as well as our Vulcan guests. They can't even grieve in peace," he finished with a sigh, shaking his head.

" _Well, I suppose I'd better leave you to rest,_ " commented Marcus, gazing at his tired-looking friend. " _I'll call someone from the primary fleet back to give you a tow to Starbase 1. They should catch up to you in a few days. And in the meantime, for the love of God, try not to trip over any more disasters on your way back._ "

"Don't plan on it," responded Pike, a grim smile gracing his lips.

Marcus shook his head, suddenly looking much older, " _I'm sorry, Chris. About everything that happened. I truly am._ "

"I know, Alex," Pike replied somberly. "I know."

" _Well, keep me in the loop,_ " said Marcus after a brief pause. " _And let me know if there is anything else you need. Anything._ "

"Will do," nodded Pike.

On the other side of the communication, Alexander reached towards his screen to terminate the connection.

" _Marcus out._ "


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 12

 ** _Stardate 2258.45 – U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant_**

 _["Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off . . ."_

" _Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry! Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead . . ."_

" _Harry," whispered Cedric, "take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents . . ."_

. . . _Bellatrix Lestrange screamed triumphantly as Sirius fell through the archway._

" _He can't come back, Harry," said Lupin, his voice breaking, as he grabbed Harry around the chest and held him back. "He can't come back, because he's d –"_

" _HE IS NOT DEAD!" bellowed Harry, viciously struggling against Lupin in an attempt to free himself and run after his godfather. "SIRIUS!"_

. . . _Pandemonium ruled the grounds of Hogwarts. The old castle shook and trembled violently, dust and smoke filled the air. Bursts of green and red light were everywhere. People were shouting out spells, instructions, warnings. The world seemed to be ending in a maelstrom of devilish flames, deafening explosions, and bloodcurdling screams of agony . . . So many died. So many . . ._

" _And it's all your fault, Harry Potter," hissed Voldemort, his red snake-like eyes full of madness and his voice cold as ice. "They are all dead because of_ you _!"]_

Harry woke up with a start and sat up straight in his bed, gasping. The images of his latest nightmare still swimming before his eyes, the faces and voices of the dead haunting him in his sleep.

"Well, finally. I was starting to think you might sleep all the way to the spacedock," said a voice somewhere to the right, followed by a soft whirring noise near his ear.

Somewhat disoriented and still half in the nightmare, Harry had difficulty seeing without his glasses in the bright light of the Medical Bay. He frantically started looking for them and his wand, panic overtaking him when he couldn't find either.

"Heart rate's still elevated," said the voice matter-of-factly. "You need to calm down. Here are your glasses, if that's what you're looking for."

Harry snatched his glasses and put them on. As his vision cleared, he saw the face of a familiar man. "You are – you're Dr. McCoy, right?"

"The one and only," muttered the doctor in response. "You know, I haven't seen a pair of those, like – ever," he said, gesturing to Harry's glasses. "Of course, people wear sunglasses, but not ones that help them see better. Everyone just gets their vision corrected nowadays. You can do that too, if you want, once we get back."

"I'll . . . I'll consider it," said Harry, picking up his wand from a small table near his bed.

He calmed slightly at the feeling of reassurance and familiarity that holding his wand offered. Unfortunately, the calm didn't last long. Harry glanced around the room, only to see his friend lying prone on another bed. He bolted to his feet, stumbling towards her.

"Hermione?"

"Take it easy, dammit!" snapped McCoy, helping to steady Harry. "You don't want to injure yourself again."

"What's wrong with her?" asked Harry, sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed and taking a hold of one of her hands.

"If only I knew," the doctor sighed. "There's nothing physically wrong with her, as far as I can tell, but you've both been out for three days."

"I guess she wasn't joking about sleeping for several days then," commented Harry. "Although, it doesn't make any sense."

"You're telling me," muttered McCoy, shaking his head. "Has she played sleeping beauty like this before?"

"Well, after the Final Battle, we all slept extra long . . . but not like this! Not for three days!" Harry narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "What happened here while I was gone?"

At that moment, the door opened up, revealing Spock.

"Ah, how about this: Spock here will give you a rundown of what happened to your girlfriend while you were gone, but only after I perform a quick examination to make sure that you're actually ready to leave the Medbay. Deal?"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Whatever you say," said the doctor, running his tricorder over Harry.

"And I'm not leaving her," Harry countered defiantly.

"Your stomach says otherwise," noted McCoy, as Harry's stomach chose that moment to growl embarrassingly.

Spock observed the interchange with a raised eyebrow, his hands clasped behind his back as usual.

"Mr. Potter, it is most pleasing to see that you are finally awake," he said in his usual monotone.

McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Er . . . thanks," Harry said.

"Once Dr. McCoy is finished with the examination, I will escort you to the Mess Hall."

"What about Hermione?"

"She'll be fine here, don't worry," assured him McCoy. "As you can see, she's not going anywhere."

"What if she wakes up and I'm not here? I just don't want her to be alone . . ." Harry trailed off, still trying to shake off the feelings of horror and dread – courtesy of his most recent nightmare. He knew Hermione had them too, and he wanted to be there for her. Just in case.

McCoy must have seen this in Harry's eyes, for he hurried to reassure him. "She's not exactly alone. I won't be far. And there's always someone nearby. If she does wake up, I'll find a way to inform you and get someone to escort her to the Mess Hall as well. I imagine that she'll be hungry too."

McCoy finished scanning Harry, and said, "Well, you're cleared to leave. Your shoulder is mostly healed, but try not to strain it too much for now. Your concussion is gone. Go freshen up so you can eat something," he finished, indicating a pile of neatly folded uniform clothes and the bathroom.

"Thank you, doctor," responded Harry politely as he walked towards the bathroom, throwing one more concerned glance in Hermione's direction.

When Harry returned, McCoy was gone. Spock was still standing by the door and quietly conversing with a woman he recognized as Uhura.

"Nyota Uhura," she introduced herself with a smile, taking a few steps towards Harry and holding out her hand to shake his own.

"Harry Potter."

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel fine, thank you," Harry responded as his stomach growled again.

"Shall we then?" Uhura smiled a little wider in an attempt to make him more comfortable.

She gestured towards the doors. Harry nodded and followed her out of the Medbay, Spock bringing up the rear.

They walked down a wide corridor towards the turbolift, encountering several crew members on the way. Some of them were aliens. A couple of them in particular made an impression on Harry. One was – a male? – with blue skin, platinum hair, and antennae. Another was a reptilian-looking – female? – with dull olive green, scaly skin.

Harry tried hard not to gawk at them. Living in the magical world, he thought he had seen it all. Apparently, there were still a lot of things that could surprise him. He gave his head a shake, as they stepped into the turbolift.

There was less to look at, enclosed in what was essentially an elevator, but Harry still found a question. He gestured towards Spock and Uhura's clothing, asking "So, this is obviously some sort of uniform. What do the colors mean?"

"You are correct," confirmed Spock. "Starfleet uniforms vary by colour among three divisions – gold for command, blue for science, and red for operations," he explained as they stepped out of the turbolift and headed towards the Mess Hall.

The sliding doors parted, revealing a large room with round white tables of varying sizes and chairs to match them. The smell of food filled the air, making Harry realize that he was indeed starving. The trio walked towards one of the machines that was inserted into one of many rectangular holes in the back wall. The machine reminded Harry of a Muggle microwave that the Dursleys used to have, if slightly larger. It had a small computer built in next to it, and what appeared to be a card slot of some sort located below that. Uhura picked up a stack of square plastic cards from what looked like a drawer built into the same wall and handed them to Harry.

"Choose what you'd like to eat and then insert the card into the slot," she instructed him.

Harry looked through the cards. Each of them had a different food item stamped across the front – some familiar, and some not. Having decided on a chicken stew, he inserted the appropriate card. After a few moments, the machine in front of him beeped a few times and a bowl of steaming hot stew materialized inside of it. Eyes widening in astonishment, Harry withdrew the bowl and set it quickly on a tray that was handed to him by Spock.

"Wow. Wicked," said Harry, impressed that these people could use technology in a way that mimicked the way food appeared in the Great Hall.

Spock and Uhura exchanged a glance, raising an eyebrow and smiling, respectively. Having gotten their food as well, Spock and Uhura led Harry towards the far corner of the room, passing a green-skinned female with flaming red hair whom Nyota greeted as 'Gaila'.

They arrived at a table that could easily sit eight people. There were only two currently occupying it: a woman draped in thick robes of a teal and bronze weave, with a golden scarf wrapped around her head, and a necklace of pitted amber at her throat; the other occupant was a man, dressed in glittering, dark brown robes with intricately embroidered patterns. He had the same pointy ears and arching eyebrows as Spock.

"Mr. Potter, I would like to introduce my mother and my father. This is Amanda Grayson, and Ambassador Sarek."

Sarek stood and raised one hand, palm facing outwards. He spread his middle and ring fingers, creating a shape similar to the letter 'V', and nodded in greeting. "Mr. Potter."

Harry, somewhat at a loss, looked to Spock and Uhura for direction. When he received only an encouraging nod – or what he assumed was encouraging – and a supportive smile, he raised one hand in an awkward wave. "Er . . . hi."

Amanda stood up, smiled radiantly, and set Harry's tray on the table for him so that she could pull him into a firm embrace. It was a move that he might have expected from Mrs. Weasley.

"It's so good to finally meet you, Harry," she said, still smiling widely. "Is it okay if I call you 'Harry'?"

"Er . . . Yes, of course."

"Hermione told me a bit about you. I spoke to her while you were gone, you see," she continued. "Please, sit down. You must be hungry."

"Thanks," he said, sitting down next to Spock and feeling slightly uncomfortable under Sarek and Amada's continued gaze. He looked between them, and, not quite sure whether what he was about to say was considered rude or not, said to her, "You're human?"

Amanda laughed. "Yes, I am. Spock is only half-Vulcan." She smiled affectionately at her son, though it turned into a frown when he tensed infinitesimally at her words.

She decided against bringing his reaction into the current conversation and turned back to Harry, "Please, eat. Don't be shy."

"Is this computer-made food real? Is it safe to eat?" asked Harry, eyeing the food.

He scooped up a spoonful of the stew and examined it. It looked and smelt good enough.

"It is very much real and perfectly safe," confirmed Spock, placing a forkful of his salad into his mouth, as if to demonstrate his point.

"It is interesting that you find our food synthesizer so surprising," noted Uhura. "Can't you achieve the same results with your magic?"

"No, you can't produce food out of nothing. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," explained Harry, gaining blank looks.

"Technically, the food synthesizer does not produce food 'out of nothing'," Spock commented, being the first to break a slightly awkward silence. "It utilizes transporter technology to dematerialize quantities of matter and then rematerialize the matter in the form of food."

"Right. Okay. Good to know," responded Harry, staring at Spock in perplexity.

"And usually, the food synthesizer is only used as a supplement to the ship's chef. But under the circumstances, this is what we've got," added Uhura, gesturing to their machine-created food. "The food synthesizers aren't perfect, and just like any other machine, can malfunction sometimes. But they're way better than the older protein resequencers."

Harry nodded, and decided to change the subject. "So, what happened to Hermione here while I was gone?"

"Didn't she tell you?" asked Uhura.

"No, we were both too exhausted after we got back from Nero's ship to talk much, and now she's asleep. I'd like to know what happened."

Spock launched into a description of everything that had happened after Pike and Harry left for the _Narada_. When he got to the part where Hermione went to the doomed planet with him to retrieve the Elders, Harry paled.

"She did _what_?!" he exclaimed, dropping his spoon and attracting the attention of a few people in the room – which, thankfully, wasn't very full at the moment – when Spock told him about Hermione jumping after his mother.

"Bloody hell! Bloody Gryffindor courage! Bloody . . . Argh." Harry shook his head. "She could have gotten herself killed, for Merlin's sake!"

"Hey, Potter! Good to see you're awake," greeted Kirk, clapping the wizard on the uninjured shoulder and then sitting down at the table with his tray of food on Harry's other side. "What's the yelling about?"

"Mr. Potter is merely expressing his disagreement with Ms. Granger's decision to go with me to retrieve the Vulcan High Council –" started Spock.

"She's supposed to be the rational one. Ron and I have always been the reckless ones. And she says _I_ have a hero complex," said Harry, shaking his head in disbelief once more. "Dear Merlin . . . this is mental. What was she thinking?" he finished, rubbing his face with one hand.

"Don't be angry with her," said Amanda gently, reaching for Harry's hand and taking a hold of it in a very motherly fashion. "I wouldn't be here, if it weren't for her." She wiped a few tears that trailed down her cheeks with her free hand.

Silence settled at their table. Harry sighed, giving Amanda's hand a squeeze.

"I'm not mad that she saved you. I'm actually very happy about that. Truly. It's just that the thought of losing her . . . I almost lost her three times already . . . And . . ." he trailed off, remembering the events at the Department of Mysteries during their fifth year, the Malfoy Manor, and the most recent events when he almost lost his friend on the Bridge of this very ship.

Suddenly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he said, "She's afraid of heights, you know?"

"She is?" inquired Kirk. Harry nodded in response, folding his hands on the table. "Then she must have been terrified on Nero's ship. The _Narada_ was not a great place for people suffering from acrophobia."

"She always quotes this bloke I keep forgetting the name of, saying that courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it . . ."

"' _The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear',_ " Amanda finished the quote. "Nelson Mandela."

"Yeah, that's right. That's the bloke's name," confirmed Harry. "You know that quote? In the 23rd century?"

"I'm a teacher," Amanda said, shrugging her shoulders. "Besides, such wisdom is timeless."

She then turned to her husband and smiled, holding out her index and middle finger. Sarek mirrored the gesture, and touched his two fingers to hers, meeting her gaze. As it often happened, he got lost in his thoughts staring into those beautiful brown eyes that he so loved – the eyes that their son had inherited.

Speaking of bravery, Amanda Grayson was the bravest person he knew. How many other humans had married Vulcans – or any other species, for that matter – and had moved off their home planet in order to raise a family on an unfamiliar, and frankly inhospitable, world? She was fierce in many different ways: a tireless advocate for children, a gifted educator, and an outspoken critic of injustice when she saw it.

" _I wish I had your courage,"_ he had told her on many occasions. Unlike his wife, Sarek often said nothing in response to someone purposefully or unwittingly insulting him or his loved ones. Amanda had confronted him many times about his tendency to avoid a problem instead of disregarding any difficulties and dealing it on the spot.

 _At least_ _Spock seems to have inherited several of his mother's traits - bravery included_ , Sarek thought, remembering the day when his son had beaten up a bully who had insulted his mother. The incident had prompted one of his and Amanda's few serious arguments. Well, Amanda had argued – Sarek had merely discussed. She had fiercely defended Spock and his reaction to the bullies, and had stormed off in disgust when Sarek had refused to consider the situation from her point of view.

And then there was the day when Spock had been accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, but ended up declining his own admission. Even though Spock's last words to the Council – ' _Live long and prosper'_ – had seemingly held no emotion, Sarek had been able to detect the emotional similarity to a gesture that humans called 'flipping the bird' – and the consequent hidden implication that the Vulcan High Council should . . . 'screw themselves'. That day, Sarek couldn't help but feel disappointed with his son. However, he had later admitted to himself that in addition to the disappointment, there was also something that could only be described as pride. It was illogical for Vulcans to take pride in any kind of repudiation, but that day Sarek had been proud of Spock for doing what he himself could not do as a consummate diplomat – defend Amanda, and his own half-human heritage.

" _I want him to embrace Vulcan, you know that. But he has to be himself. Which means occasionally being human,"_ Amanda had argued many times.

When Spock walked out of the Vulcan Science Academy, having made the decision to join Starfleet, he had demonstrated exactly what that meant.

Amanda Grayson was the bravest person Sarek knew . . . Though Harry Potter and Hermione Granger now competed for that position. How many other people, human or not, having found themselves in a completely foreign place amongst unfamiliar people, would risk their very lives to save strangers? How many people would have the courage to stand up and defend what is right, being fully aware that such a choice could have difficult consequences? How many –

Sarek's thoughts were interrupted, when Harry asked, "So, what else happened while I was gone?"

The rest of the events were recounted by Spock, Uhura, and Kirk, while Harry finished his stew.

Once he was caught up on everything, Harry sighed, "Well, that explains it then."

"That explains what?" asked Kirk, not understanding what the wizard was referring to.

"Why Hermione is still unconscious."

"And why is that?" asked Uhura.

"Magical exhaustion. Specifically from casting the Fidelius Charm on an object this size," Harry explained, gesturing around at the ship. "And all the fighting we had to do before we even got here . . ."

"How much longer do you think she'll be out?" inquired Kirk.

"I don't know." Harry shook his head.

Silence spread across the table for a long moment.

"Harry," started Amanda, looking at her husband for support.

"Mr. Potter, if you would accept it, the Elders would like to offer you and Ms. Granger a temporary refuge when we get to Earth. We have discussed your predicament, and as a sign of our gratitude, would like to invite you to stay at the Vulcan Embassy. It might be crowded, seeing as every Vulcan currently residing on this ship will be there, but we believe that it will be adequate enough to meet your needs until you find some sort of resolution."

"Thank you. I – I don't know what to say."

"You are welcome," responded Sarek.

"Well, we must go," said Amanda, smiling at everyone. "But we shall see you later."

Those still seated gave similar farewells as Sarek and Amanda left with their empty trays. Almost immediately their seats were taken by Chekov and Scotty, who were currently on break from their work in Engineering.

"Pavel Chekov," the young Russian introduced himself with a small smile.

"Montgomery Scott." The engineer offered his hand. "Me friends call me 'Scotty'."

"Harry Potter," responded the wizard, shaking the proffered hand and offering a nod to Chekov.

"Aye, laddie, I know. Heard about you single-handedly stopping that Romulan bastard's ship. Well done!" congratulated Scotty, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Erm . . . thanks, but I didn't . . . I mean –" stuttered Harry, feeling uncomfortable under so many people's gazes.

"Mr. Scott, how are our impulse engines?" interrupted Kirk, sensing Harry's discomfort.

"Not good, Capt'n. Not good at all. I've discovered cracks in 'em that I cannae fix here. I'll need a starbase to fix 'em. And not just any starbase, it has to be a good one. And we're still low on power. Without the warp core, we only have the auxiliary power, which was heavily depleted during our escape from the black hole. Currently, it's being diverted to life-support systems, artificial gravity, and the impulse engines. I really hope those escort ships arrive soon. Otherwise, we're in _deep_ trouble."

"Keptin, wizout varp capability it vill take us years to reach ze nearest base," interjected Chekov, stating the obvious. "According to ze research I haff done, ze nearest outpost iz located on Vega 7. If impulse power holds, ve can reach it in two days. However, ve vould haff to significantly alter our current course. It's not exactly a starbase. It's an old lithium-cracking facility. Uninhabited, but it may have some of ze resources ve need to –"

"Lithium cracking?" interrupted Scotty indignantly. "Why not just give me some tape, glue, and string? Capt'n, I cannae guarantee that our power and life-support will hold at this rate. We're so badly damaged that a stiff breeze could shake us apart."

"Do the best you can, Mr. Scott," said Kirk.

"What d'ya think I've been doing? Twiddlin' my thumbs? I've already made some modifications and enhancements to the equipment – as much as I could. But without the proper resources, trying to fix this ship is like trying to make an omelette – without a frying pan, while chasing after the chicken trying to get the eggs . . . during a sandstorm."

"Lieutenant," Kirk addressed Uhura. "What's the ETA of the escort ships?"

"Three days, sir, according to most recent transmissions that I have received," she replied immediately, her tone professional.

After recent events, she seemed to have slightly changed her attitude towards Kirk. There was something to be said about coming out alive from a near-death situation together.

Anything could happen in three days in space, and Kirk didn't like how vulnerable they all were. He contemplated what they should do – go on a detour to Vega 7 in hopes of finding the necessary resources, or take the risk and continue on their present course.

Harry spoke up. "Er . . . if it's the cracks that you need mended in your . . . um . . . impulse engines, I might be able to help you," he said uncertainly, not fully understanding what everyone around him was talking about, but having enough common sense to get the gist of things.

Everyone's gazes promptly turned to Harry.

"I mean, I could try _Reparo_ charm. Couldn't hurt, could it?" he finished, looking around at bewildered faces.

"Like ze one Ms. Hermione used to fix your glasses?" Chekov asked.

"Exactly," nodded Harry.

"Size differences aside, I find it highly illogical that the same _spell_ would work to fix the impulse engines," intoned Spock. "Their design and structure are several times more sophisticated than that of your glasses."

"Oh, come on Spock," Kirk waved him off. "You've seen what he can do. You've seen what Hermione can do. Do you still doubt their abilities?"

The Vulcan opened his mouth to say something, but Kirk already turned to Harry, "Are you sure you're up for it? I mean, you did just wake up."

In answer, the wizard merely nodded.

Kirk turned to the engineer, "Mr. Scott?"

"Aye, why not? Things being as bad as they are, I doubt you can make 'em any worse, laddie," he addressed Harry. "At this point I'm willing to try anything to keep our fair lady alive."

"Excellent," Kirk commented with a smile. "Let me know how things go." With that, he picked up his tray and headed out of the Mess Hall.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.46 – U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant_**

Another nightmare plagued Hermione's dreams. It was Bellatrix. Again. In Malfoy Manor. Hermione vaguely realized that it wasn't real, that the evil witch was long dead. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wake up . . .

Suddenly, blinding light filled the room of the Manor. Hermione closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she found herself lying on the grass in a meadow . . . Wait. _A meadow_? How did she get here?

The place was entirely unfamiliar to her. The sky above, instead of being a customary colour of blue, was a gentle shade of lilac. In fact, everything in this place was infused with violet hue that overlapped their usual colours – the grass, the trees, the waterfalls, the flowers, even the far-off mountains, boulders, and rocks . . .

"Rise, child. You are safe now. You and Harry both. It is my gift to you," said someone. Whoever it was sounded female, with a voice that was all at once gentle and melodic, comforting and reassuring.

Hermione turned in the direction of the voice and saw a woman. No – a lady. A lady of grace. She was tall, very tall – at least seven feet in height. Her eyes were a dazzling shade of blue-violet. The wind played gently with her long lavender-blond hair. A golden diadem with a single glowing, purple gem adorned her forehead. She wore long, flowing white robes with intricate patterns embroidered in purple and gold. White light surrounded her entire being – light that brought calmness and peace.

Hermione instantly forgot about the nightmare as if it never happened, and focused on the lady's words. The stranger didn't seem that much older than her, yet she called her 'a child'. Hermione wanted to protest such a condescending sort of address, but the lady's other words demanded more attention.

"Safe from what?" Hermione asked in confusion, standing up in front of the stranger. "How do you know our names? What is this place?"

The lady merely smiled knowingly in answer and said nothing.

"Who are you?" continued Hermione.

This time, the lady answered.

"My identity is not important right now, precious heart. All shall be revealed in due time to those who are worthy," she said cryptically. "For now, I have a message for you. The galaxy is a vast and dangerous place. Be wary and trust your instincts. You have a good sense of intuition, Hermione. Trust it."

"This isn't real, is it?" asked Hermione, shaking her head. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"Of course you are dreaming," confirmed the woman, smiling radiantly. "But just because it is a dream, doesn't mean this isn't real."

With that, the lady turned to leave, the white light consuming her form.

"Wait, where are you going?" The lady's presence was comforting, and Hermione didn't want her to leave. She didn't want her nightmares to come back.

"I must take my leave now, dear one," she said, half-turning to Hermione. "Remember: trust your heart, and remain true to yourself."

With her last words, the light surrounding her grew more bright and intense, so much so that Hermione had to close her eyes. When she reopened them, she found herself in the Medical Bay of the _Enterprise,_ staring up at its sterile ceiling.

The first thing she noticed was that there was a hand wrapped loosely around hers, and something was resting against the back of her fingers. The almost inaudible hum of monitors filled the room.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," a familiar Southern drawl warmly greeted her. "About time."

"Dr. McCoy?" she uttered, her voice – unlike in her recent dream - hoarse, as she turned her head towards the doctor.

"Yep, that's me. At least I don't have to introduce myself to you again," he said, slapping his tricorder and furrowing his brows. "The damn thing's finally working again. Surprise, surprise," he grumbled, turning his gaze to Hermione, briefly, and then back at his tricorder, as he analyzed the readings. "Do you remember where you are?"

"The _Enterprise_?"

"Unfortunately. I'd rather be back on Earth, but seeing as we barely escaped the black hole with our lives, I'll take this."

She made a noise of acknowledgement and looked down at the mop of messy raven hair that could belong to only one person. Harry, seated in a chair beside the biobed, was fast asleep, not even stirring at the sound of voices above him. His head was pillowed on his arm, glasses askew on the bridge of his nose, and he was snoring softly. He looked so young and peaceful and far from the image of the fierce warrior and brave Auror that she knew him to be.

Hermione smiled fondly at him and turned to McCoy, "Is he alright?"

The doctor performed a cursory once over, waved the tricorder over Harry, and nodded, "Yep. Probably just tired. He's been in Engineering for a while, helping to fix the impulse engines and a few other things. He's engineer Scott's favorite person at the moment. Thanks to him, we now have full impulse, fully functional life support systems, and most of the power back up. The auxiliary power, that is. He had my clearance to leave the Medbay, but wouldn't stay away from you, ya know?"

She smiled gently in response, and asked, "How long was I out?"

"Four days."

"That long?"

"Uh-huh. Tell me something. Just a few moments ago, there was some sort of violet-coloured light around you and your friend here. Is that another one of your weird magic thingies? Because it seemed to interfere with the technology here," he said, indicating his tricorder and the biobed instrumentation.

"Violet light? Are you sure?"

"Well, unless I was seeing things, then yes, pretty sure."

"Hmmm. I don't know," she said thoughtfully. Maybe she hadn't just been dreaming after all. "As far as I know, that's never happened before."

"Uh-huh," McCoy repeated, his gaze still on the tricorder. "Well, darlin'. It looks like you're finally well enough to leave the Sickbay if you want. You've got my clearance," he finished, picking up his PADD to make a few notes.

Harry suddenly started stirring, groaning as he rose onto his elbows.

McCoy shot him a slightly wary look. "That's my cue. I'll leave you two to it. Come and find me if you need anything. I'll be nearby." With that, he swiftly and quietly left the room.

Harry sat up, letting out a deep exhale, and slumped back in the chair. He blinked sleepily at his friend.

"Hi," he smiled, one hand still gripping Hermione's as he used the other to right his glasses.

"Hi," she smiled back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and sitting up so that she could see him better.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, placing the pillow behind her back to make her comfortable.

"Fine. And you? When did you wake up?"

Harry nodded, taking a seat on the bed. "Yesterday."

He gave her a penetrating look. "That was some case of magical exhaustion that you had, Hermione."

The witch shrugged her shoulders in response.

"Hermione, I _know_. They told me everything. Have you completely lost it?!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in volume as he gestured around them. "Casting a Fidelius Charm on an object this size?"

"Keep it down, Harry – we're in the Medbay. Or, if you insist on shouting, then at least cast a _Muffliato._ " She waited for her friend to do something, but he kept staring at her with a furious look on his face. "Harry, we needed a way to get to you undetected. It was the only way I could think of at the time. And well, it worked, and we're still here –"

"Hermione, you were unconscious for _four days._ You could have died!" To his credit, Harry didn't shout this time.

"Honestly, Harry, stop being such a hypocrite. You would have done the same, if you were in my place! Don't tell me you wouldn't – I know you too well to believe that. And if you can't quite remember, it was you who insisted on going to the enemy ship in the first place!" Hermione shot back.

Harry had the decency to look away.

"Please, Harry. I don't want to fight with you. It's done. There's no point in getting into it now, is there?" She sighed. "At least it's not always you who ends up in the infirmary longer than everyone else. Maybe it will be different for you in this world."

"In _this_ world?" Harry looked up sharply. Instead of indignation, there was now confusion in his features. "As in 'Muggle world'?" Judging by the look on Hermione's face, that was not what she had meant. "Wait, what are you saying?"

"We need to talk."

"Yeah, go on."

At that moment, Harry's communicator beeped. Hermione looked at him in surprise and arched one eyebrow in question.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, gave her a small sheepish smile, and picked up the call, "Potter here."

" _Oi, laddie! Scotty here,_ " the engineer's excited voice resounded from the speaker. " _D'ya think ya could lend me a hand 'ere again? I think I've found a way to fix some of our sensors and increase power to the shields, but I need some of your magic 'ere. If ya dinna mind."_

Harry looked at Hermione in question. She nodded and whispered, "Go. I'll be fine. We can talk later."

That was all Harry needed as he responded to Scotty, "I'll be there shortly. Potter out."

"Look at you. It's almost like you belong here," Hermione teased, smiling.

"Yeah, except I don't," Harry responded seriously.

"As for this," – he indicated the communicator – "they gave it to me because I kept on coming back to the Medbay every half an hour or so to see if you were up. I didn't want you to be alone when you woke up. Dr. McCoy finally got one of these for me from somewhere and told me that _when_ you woke up, he'd call me immediately. He might have been a bit annoyed with my loitering." They both chuckled at that.

"Oh, um . . . you should go and get something to eat," added Harry, as an afterthought.

"And you?"

"I already did before I came here and fell asleep," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, as his cheeks flamed up in embarrassment.

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione chuckled. "Truly. Go ahead. Mr. Scott needs your help."

"Will you be alright?"

"I'll be just fine."

Harry nodded once more and left the room. Hermione picked up her wand and gazed at it for a few moments, contemplating their situation. With flick of her wand and a muttered incantation, she summoned her Patronus. If her assumptions were correct, then . . . Sure enough, the otter just stared back at her in confusion, not moving anywhere . . .

* * *

Hermione left the private isolation room and headed towards the sliding doors that led out of the Medbay, tugging on a red uniform dress. A dress. Why did it have to be a dress – one that only came down to the middle of her thighs, no less? Why couldn't they let her wear trousers like before?

The Medbay was still busy, tired-looking doctors and nurses continuing to care for their patients. Unlike beforehand, the curtains were drawn around many of the biobeds. The number of personnel that she could actually see was a lot lower.

"Psst! Hermione!" someone called her as she walked past one of the curtained beds. The curtains around this biobed weren't fully drawn, allowing the occupant inside to see exactly who happened to be passing by.

She turned her head towards the sound and saw a familiar face. "James?"

"Hi," he smiled, indicating for her to come closer. He was sitting on the biobed and holding a device to one of his cheeks that Hermione recognized as a dermal regenerator. "Bones told me you woke up. How are you feeling?"

"I'm – I'm fine, thank you."

"The uniform suits you," he commented, trying not to make it too obvious that he was checking her out. "It's like you belong here."

"Except . . . I don't," she responded quietly, looking away and biting down on her bottom lip in an attempt to hold back tears.

After a brief pause, she turned to look at him again. "What are you doing here all alone?"

"Oh, Bones pretty much dragged me in here and said that I can't leave until I'm more presentable for the cameras," Kirk replied in a tone that bore traces of suppressed irritation. He either didn't like being in the Medbay, or just wasn't thrilled about the prospect of confronting the media.

"And where is Dr. McCoy himself?"

"Oh, someone brought a crew member in need of help," he gestured toward somewhere to the left, in the direction where presumably Dr. McCoy was. "We don't have a ship's counselor currently on staff, given that we left Earth in a hurry and weren't even supposed to be stuck in space for this long. The realization of what happened is finally starting to fully hit people, you know? Especially now that we've been able to contact Earth again . . . Since Bones is the CMO, he's got the responsibility of dealing with both physical and emotional injuries. He thinks that some crew members might need counselling once we get back. After all, we lost a lot of people – friends, family members . . ."

She nodded. Hermione understood grief intimately. It was a bitter adversary that she had battled many times over, bearing countless invisible scars where it had driven its blunt knives between her ribs and into her heart. She had lost plenty in her short life. Many people in the Wizarding world had suffered because of Voldemort and his followers . . .

Hermione gave her head a shake to rid it of bitter memories and turned her gaze back to Kirk, who was eyeing her with a strange look on his face. She also took a note of his eyes. They weren't as vibrant as she had seen them before, a film of grief making his cerulean eyes look watery instead of intense.

"Here, let me help you," she offered, stepping closer to him and holding out her hand for the device. "Why didn't Dr. McCoy get someone to do this for you? I mean, you can't even see properly to know where you need to point it."

"Everyone else is busy," Kirk answered, handing her the regenerator. "Our medical team is hugely understaffed to deal with the current demand and . . . Besides, this is just a simple dermal regeneration process – nothing complicated . . ." he trailed off.

After a few moments, he cracked a faint smile, and said, "You're more gentle than Bones, you know? He could really learn from you."

Hermione placed a hand on his right cheek, sending a cascade of sparks through his nerves, using her other to turn his head to the side. She expertly ran the regenerator over his bruises, as if she'd done it a thousand times. Not true, of course.

Kirk relaxed under her touch, the tension in his shoulders unravelling.

"Despite what you think, he cares a great deal about you," Hermione noted. "And good friends are hard to come by."

"Yes. Yes, they are," Kirk said with unmistakable sadness in his voice, as his gaze turned distant.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered.

"Huh?" he turned to look at her, slightly startled. "About what?"

Hermione gave him a penetrating look that said ' _You know exactly what I mean'._ Kirk swallowed.

"Oh. I'm – I'm fine." He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Everything is fine."

"Okay." She didn't push any further and merely continued working with the regenerator. "Just know that if you ever do want to talk, I'm willing to listen. And since I'm not a member of your crew, you don't need to put on a mask or pretend that everything is fine in front of me. You've been just as affected by recent events as anyone else."

"The majority of my graduating class from the Academy is dead," he blurted out before he could stop himself. "You saw the remnants of all those ships when we arrived at Vulcan . . . And then there were those on other ships, gaining their cadet-officer experience credits . . ." he trailed off.

Then, realizing that he might need to elaborate, he did just that, "Every year all cadets, apart from plebes, get assigned to different starships to get some hands-on experience in space. Two of my good friends, Lee and Gary, were on the _Challenger_ – the ship that was patrolling the edge of the Neutral Zone. Another ship that Nero destroyed," he spat, tensing as he said the name, and curling his hands into fists.

A single tear spilled over his lashes and slid down his cheek. Hermione reached up and gently swiped it away.

"So, you're still a student?" she asked meeting his gaze and placing her hand at the nape of his neck.

The action was strangely calming for Kirk. He relaxed and nodded.

"A cadet, yes. Graduating this year – in a few months." He got a distant look on his face, as if remembering something, and cracked a tiny smile. "We used to be troublemakers. Got into so many adventures together. If it weren't for Bones, the three of us probably would have gotten expelled a long time ago. I remember one time . . . we decided to play touch football after curfew. Gary's idea. We'd done it several times by that point. And we probably wouldn't have gotten caught then either, if Lee and I hadn't run into the security force field that surrounds campus. The three of us got caught, of course. Had kitchen duties for a week as punishment. Thankfully, Bones had a test to study for, and didn't go with us that day. Otherwise, I would've never heard the end of it."

Kirk chuckled lightly. "We always hoped that the four of us would be assigned to the same ship – that we'd be able to explore the galaxy together. And now . . . That's never going to happen."

"I know, James. I know. I understand." Hermione grasped one of his hands to convey her support.

He looked down at their joined hands and stared dumbly until she removed hers and continued the process of dermal regeneration.

Kirk gave his head a shake. "Sorry. I forgot that you've been through war yourself . . ."

"What are you apologizing for? They were your friends. And I know what it feels like, James –"

"Jim," he corrected her.

"Excuse me?"

" _Jim_. Most people call me Jim."

"Oh, well. Is it alright if I choose not to count as most people?"

"Ah, sure. Why not?" Kirk winked at her flirtatiously.

 _After all, you are the only witch I know_ , he added mentally.

"Wonderful," Hermione stated evenly, unfazed by his attempts to flirt with her.

Kirk studied her face, while she seemed to be immersed in what she was doing.

"Thank you," he said after a few moments, his tone serious.

"For what?"

"For being here." Kirk put his right hand over her left one. Almost immediately, he felt her tense up.

Hermione cleared her throat and removed her hand from underneath his. Then she took up the regenerator with it and began to work on healing his other side.

"So, are you also getting your cadet-officer experience credits on this ship?" she asked, her right hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Kirk frowned. "What? Oh. No. I already did that last quarter. I was assigned to _Farragut._ "

Then he added quietly, "The _Farragut_ , whose compressed atoms are now a permanent part of the 40 Eridani system. Stephen Garrovick, its captain, was a very good man . . ." He looked up sharply. "How do you – how do you handle it? This pain?"

"Well, everyone deals with it differently. It really depends on the person. But I think that the first step to healing is acknowledging the pain. Trying to avoid your feelings only prolongs the grieving process. You can't ignore or bottle them up," Hermione said softly. "It's also important not to grieve alone. Finding support really helps. And you just learn to live with it. Eventually.

"Just remember that your friends are never really dead, as long as you remember them. They live in here, you see," she finished, pointing at his heart.

Kirk nodded in response, his blue eyes boring into her.

Then Hermione suddenly embraced him – gently, and somewhat hesitantly. Kirk's arms immediately went around her, pulling her closer, and trying to minimize the distance between them as her smell – something like roses after a summer rain – assaulted his senses.

She rubbed soothing circles on his back and whispered, "It'll be alright, James. You'll see."

Then she pulled away – too soon, in Kirk's opinion – and continued to heal his bruises with the device in her hands.

"Thanks. That . . . helped," Kirk said. "It's like you knew exactly what I needed."

"I'm glad," Hermione said softly. "Besides, I promised you a hug, didn't I? Before we went to the _Narada_. This was me keeping that promise."

Kirk merely nodded in response and continued staring at her.

Hermione gently smiled, as if remembering something, and said, "I know this might sound silly or strange, but . . . we planted a tree on our school grounds in memory of all those we lost during the War. It was Neville's idea. He's one of our good friends and is really good at Herbology. He adores all sorts of plants – magical or not." Her smile widened, as she talked about her friend – a smile that Kirk thought was brighter and more beautiful than any star in the galaxy. "So, he suggested that we plant an oak tree as a symbol of strength and endurance, of healing and renewal. A symbol of life, to represent the fact that despite everything we went through, life still goes on. And a tree, which – unlike a statue – would grow with us and live on, despite old scars . . ."

"' _The old oak, quite transfigured, spreading out a canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt and slightly trembling in the rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarled fingers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them in evidence now. Through the hard century-old bark, even where there were no twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the old veteran could have produced' . . ._ "

"That's Tolstoy," Hermione commented, recognizing the quote and stopping in her motions to look at Kirk. " _War and Peace_. Prince Andrei's second encounter with an old oak tree."

"Yep. Book II, Part III, Chapter III," Kirk grinned at her.

"Well, I'm impressed, James. Here I was thinking that you were only a pretty face," she teased.

"Well, not only." His grin widened, as he adjusted himself on the bed. "And you think I'm pretty?"

"Hold still, will you?" she said, ignoring his question. "Almost done here."

 _Merlin, I really have to watch every word I say around him_ , thought Hermione.

"You know, something tells me that you could have gotten rid of all of these bruises with your magic," Kirk asked, throwing a suspicious look at her.

"I could have," Hermione confirmed.

"Then why didn't you? Would have been faster, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. But you needed someone to talk to. And I couldn't deprive you of that by completing the task faster."

"And why not? I'm nobody to you."

"I can hardly call someone who saved my life a 'nobody'," Hermione said, meeting his oceanic eyes.

She continued, "Well, looks like we're all done here. Dr. McCoy should be happy now."

At that moment one of the curtains parted, revealing none other than Leonard McCoy, who said, "And what exactly would make me happy? I could really do with some happiness right about now."

"Doesn't this make you happy, Bones?" asked Kirk, grinning widely and indicating his now unmarred face.

"Yeah, real happy. I'm overjoyed to see that your face is pretty again," he said, blank-faced, before turning to address the witch. "Granger, I thought you'd be in the Mess Hall."

"Yes, I'm going there right now," responded Hermione, putting away the dermal regenerator. "James here needed some help."

"Well, I'm gonna join you and take a much needed break – before someone shows up here with another crisis," McCoy grumbled, leading the way out of the Medical Bay.

"I'm coming with you two," piped up Kirk, hopping off the biobed.

"Didn't you eat before you came here?" asked McCoy.

"Well, demands of a growing body, ya know?" Kirk said.

"Uh-huh, growing sideways," McCoy muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!" exclaimed Kirk, insulted. "Are you calling me fat?"

"Not you – just your head."

"Oh, c'mon, Bones. Don't be jealous."

"Jealous? I'm not jealous of you. I'm expectant. I look forward to being able to write the first scientific paper on a man who died from a brain hemorrhage due to a surplus of ego."

"Fine with me," Kirk grinned. "Just make sure I'm co-credited as the author."

"Jim, you are incorrigible," McCoy sighed deeply.

"No, I'm not."

"Right, and _I'm_ not a doctor."

"Hear that, Herms?" Kirk said, jabbing his thumb at the doctor. "This is what I have to live with every day."

"Honestly, you two sound like an old married couple," Hermione said, shaking her head in amusement. She was reminded of the Weasley twins' banter and poking fun at each other . . . when Fred was still alive . . .

She tried to shake off the memory and turned to Kirk, wagging her index finger at him. "And _do not_ call me 'Herms'," she said sternly.

"Why not? You call me James. I wanna call you something different too. Let's see. What should I call you? Hermy?" he teased.

"No!"

"Mimi?" his grin widened.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Kirk! I must say, you have an amazing talent of switching from a really nice, genuine person to an insufferable git in a blink of an eye."

"Oh, _Kirk_ , is it?" Kirk's smile quickly slipped away. "What happened to _James_? I liked James. And 'insufferable git'?"

"Do you need a definition of what that means?" offered McCoy helpfully, lips twitching ever so slightly in an effort to suppress a smirk.

"I know what that means, Bones!"

"I wouldn't mess with her if I were you, Jim. Or she might turn you into something _unnatural_." McCoy didn't even suppress his smirk this time.

"Forget something unnatural. I was thinking of turning his hair pink," Hermione said thoughtfully, pulling out her wand.

"Or do you think blue would be better? You know, to match his eyes?" she addressed the doctor.

Kirk, who was walking between McCoy and Hermione, suddenly moved to the doctor's other side. McCoy and the witch looked at each other and burst out laughing as they stepped into the turbolift. Kirk, who didn't see the grumpy doctor smile very often – let alone laugh – gaped at him for a moment, before he too joined them in laughing. And it felt good.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 13

 ** _Stardate 2258.46 – U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant_**

 _No matter what happens, we will be alright._

That was the mantra that Hermione kept on repeating to herself as she sat in one of the _Enterprise_ 's rec rooms, PADD in hands, conducting further research while Harry was in Engineering. The more she learned, the more overwhelmed she felt – despair and hopelessness threatening to throw her off-balance and out of control.

Blinking back threatened tears and trying to ignore the heaviness in her stomach, she forced herself to focus on what she was doing and what she was trying to accomplish, all the while telling herself that the situation wasn't as bad as it could have been. After all, they were safe, alive and uninjured, among rather friendly people. And most importantly, she wasn't alone. She had Harry with her.

The PADD let out a chime alerting her to an incoming message:

 _Almost done here. Meet me in the Mess Hall in 15 min._

 _I'm starving._

 _Harry._

Hermione quickly typed in an answer and sent it. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she got up to leave the rec room and headed towards the Mess Hall. She decided she'd rather wait for him there. It was time to have the conversation that was interrupted in the Medbay. She couldn't put it off any longer – she needed to share what she knew with him.

Harry spotted her immediately. She was seated at one of the small round tables on the perimeter of the Hall, her attention divided between the screen of the PADD and a cup of what was presumably tea in her hand. Harry quickly got himself a sandwich and a glass of orange juice before joining his friend.

"Harry," Hermione said in a way of greeting, looking up from her PADD and putting down her cup.

"Sorry, I'm a bit late. Scotty gets really enthusiastic when he starts talking about warp cores and transwarp beaming," Harry said, slightly frowning at the unfamiliar words that had just come out of his mouth.

"That's alright, Harry," she gave him a small smile. "Don't worry about it."

"Have you eaten already?"

"No. I'm not hungry."

Harry gave her an analyzing look, but didn't comment on it.

"Found anything useful?" he asked hopefully, indicating the PADD.

"Loads, actually. Did you know that their medical science is so advanced, that in some cases it's almost like magic?" And Hermione launched into narration about hyposprays, regenerators, biobeds, and bio-repair systems.

Harry studied Hermione's face as she talked, and could tell that she had some news to share, but for whatever reason, she was stalling. Most likely because it was bad news and she was trying to figure out the best way to deliver it. She looked rather nervous, fidgety, and anxious.

"Wow, that's impressive," he said, finishing his meal in record time. "You're right, it's almost like magic."

"Well, according to Arthur C. Clarke, _'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic'._ "

"Right. Brilliant. Well, between magic and their technology, we shouldn't have any problem getting back then, right?" Harry asked.

He then silently and inconspicuously cast a _Muffliato_ around them. The Mess Hall was mostly empty, but still . . .

"Just in case. Scotty said that some aliens have superior hearing," he explained. "Now tell me. What is it? What is it you know?"

Hermione fidgeted in her seat. "Harry, I don't know how to break this to you nicely –"

"Just spit it out, Hermione. I've faced Voldemort more times than I'd care. I'm sure I can handle whatever it is you have to say," he said a bit irritably.

She took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't think we've traveled in time, Harry. I think we are in another dimension altogether."

Harry blinked. "Er . . . Sorry?"

"Have you – have you ever heard of parallel universes? Multiverse theory? It's Muggle science. There are many different ideas and probabilities that haven't been proven as far as I've researched. So, it's more of a science fiction really . . ."

"Muggle science?" Harry echoed incredulously, gaping at her slightly. "Hermione, didn't you have enough to research at the Department of Mysteries? Why on earth were you researching Muggle science?"

He then waved a dismissive hand, and said, "Oh, never mind. Probably one of your 'light reading' sessions again. I should be used to that by now."

Hermione lightly glared at him, but her heart wasn't in it.

"So you think we are in this another universe? Are you sure? Absolutely sure?" Hermione was certain, he could tell. "What makes you say that?"

In response, Hermione tapped on the PADD and wordlessly handed it over to him.

Harry started reading, "The _Eugenics Wars, also known as the Great Wars, took place on Earth from 1992 to 1996 . . ._ " He looked up at her in question. "That's the conflict that Spock mentioned, right?"

"Yes. Continue on."

" _The wars were viewed as the first stage of World War III and caused the death of 35-37 million people. The first signs of the wars can be found within the attempts to improve the Human race through selective breeding and genetic engineering. The origins of the Eugenics Wars have been traced to an international group of scientists who created a race of 'supermen', also known as the 'Augments', who were designed to be mentally and physically superior to ordinary men and women. The Augments were created during the 1950s Cold War era, with the hope that they would lead humanity out of a world that had only known war after war, and into an era of peace. However, the scientists had overlooked the personality of Augments – they were aggressive and arrogant, and their superior abilities bred superior ambition_ . . ."

Harry put the PADD down and looked up at her. "Okay, I get the picture. And you think that because of _this_ , we aren't in our world anymore? What if they just got the dates wrong? What if we in the Wizarding world have just been too preoccupied trying to defeat a murderous lunatic to notice any of this?"

"This was huge, Harry. I doubt it would have left even the Wizarding world unaffected."

"How about wrong dates then?"

"Okay, suppose they got the dates wrong for these Wars, which I really don't think they did . . . There are other events that happened that don't correspond to those in our world. Would you like to read about that?" Hermione asked, taking the PADD into her hands.

"No, I believe you."

"My parents are Muggles, Harry. I wasn't completely ignorant of what was happening in the Muggle world. But history aside, there are other things to consider."

"Like what?"

"Have you – have you ever tried to send a Patronus to someone who's dead?"

"Er . . . no," Harry looked at her as if he thought she'd gone mad. Maybe they both had. "Why would I?"

"Well, I did. It was related to my recent research at the Department of Mysteries. Just don't ask about the details of my research, Harry. I won't be able to tell you."

"Yes, I know. The Unspeakable business," he muttered, waving a dismissive hand.

"Anyway, normally, when you send a Patronus to someone who is dead, it just turns into these little balls of light and floats away upwards. Well, I tried sending a Patronus to Ron earlier today . . . You know, if we really traveled in time, he would be . . . he would be d-dead by now, right?"

Hermione's voice hitched as she spoke. Evidently, she was struggling to keep her emotions in control.

"Well, the Patronus didn't turn into balls of light. It just stood there, looking at me, like it didn't know what to do. It was confused . . . And there is also the fact that my magic feels – odd here. I don't really know how to better describe it. All the spells seem to work the same, but it just feels – different. Not good or bad different. Just different. Have you noticed that too?"

"I have, but I thought that has to do with the fact that we're in bloody space," Harry countered.

"It is possible," Hermione agreed. "And we won't know the answer for sure until we get back to Earth. But somehow, I have a feeling that it won't change when we're on Earth. I really hope I'm wrong about that . . . Never thought I'd say that."

"Okay, but how do you explain the fact that it's 2258 here, and we came from 2001?"

"Like I said, there are a lot of theories and possibilities that haven't been proven as far as I've researched. So, one such possibility would be that we've travelled not only through dimensions, but also through time. There is also a theory that time might flow differently in each universe . . ." she trailed off, her expression turning thoughtful.

Harry could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she contemplated the possibilities.

"Hmmm, it looks like both our world and this one use the Julian calendar. At least, on Earth they do. It might be just a matter of _when_ they started using it here. You see, there is a notion that there is a universe out there for every outcome that is conceivable. For example, if the you of this universe did something even a tiny bit differently from what you've done in our own universe, his life could turn out entirely different. Now imagine the same effect, but with billions of people all doing it . . . The flow of history would be completely altered . . . Harry? Are you alright?"

Hermione was so absorbed in her thoughts as she verbalized them, that she hadn't noticed Harry's expression immediately. He was pale and looked like he was going to be sick. His face was an odd mixture of confusion and anger, like someone both wanting to react and wanting to deny whatever had caused the reaction in the first place.

He breathed deeply and spoke, his voice slightly shaky, "Okay – I – I take it back – whatever I said earlier. I'm not sure I can handle this."

"Harry –"

"Just – give me a moment," he said, putting up one hand to silence her.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair, breathing deeply as he tried to control his emotions. After all, they were in a flying tin-can, for Merlin's sake. The consequences of any kind of intense, uncontrolled outburst of magic could be catastrophic . . .

 _This can't be happening,_ he told himself. _This definitely complicates things – by a lot. But I refuse to believe that I will never see Ginny, or Ron, or Teddy . . . Oh, Merlin, Teddy. I lost my godfather to the Veil, and now so did Teddy . . . Hang on, the Veil!_

"So," he said, "if what you say is true and if we really are now in this another world – a parallel universe, or whatever – would the Veil be like a doorway then? Like a portal?"

"It's not supposed to be. Think where it's located, Harry. It's called the Death Chamber for a reason. As far as I've researched, it leads into only one dimension of existence that has nothing to do with parallel universes."

"But we're alive," Harry countered stubbornly, his expression suddenly turning hopeful.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "No, Harry. I know what you're thinking. But no."

"Why not? If we're alive, why is it not possible that he's also alive here somewhere?"

"Harry, I've researched the Veil ever since that incident in hopes of finding something – anything – that might bring him back. It was one of the reasons why I accepted the job offer from the Department of Mysteries, instead of pursuing a career as a Healer. I know he was important to you. He was your family – and you're _my_ family. If there was even a faintest chance of him coming back to you . . . I tried. I really did. But everything indicated that Sirius was dead, Harry. I am sorry."

Tears began to stream down her face, and she wiped at them impatiently.

Harry stared at her in bewilderment. He knew that she was loyal. Extremely loyal. After all, she had stood by him even when no one else did. She had risked her life for him more times than he wanted to think about. But he had never imagined that she would do so much work, spend so much time trying to find a way to bring back _his_ godfather – all while he was completely ignorant.

"I never knew, Hermione," Harry said quietly. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to give you false hope when there was such a high chance that I would only have to crush it later. I couldn't do that to you."

"I – I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Harry," she tenderly grasped his hand and gazed into his eyes. "You know that you're like my brother, right? And things like this are what family and friends are for."

"Did you – did you try sending him a Patronus?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, giving him an apologetic look. "It turned into tiny balls of light and floated upwards."

"And I did see him in the Forbidden Forest when I used the Resurrection Stone . . . along with my parents and Lupin," Harry said dejectedly, squeezing Hermione's hand. "I guess I just wanted it to be possible, if only for a moment . . ."

Harry's communicator chirped at that moment, alerting him to an incoming transmission. Hermione's PADD let out a similar chime. Harry flipped the communicator open and read the message.

"Pike wants to meet with us in Briefing Room 2 on Deck 14 in fifteen minutes. Says he has some new information that might help us."

"Yes. I got the same message as well."

"What do you think he's found?"

"I don't know." Hermione shook her head. "Have you even seen him since you've woken up?"

"I have. Briefly. Do you think we should tell him? About what we've discovered?"

She considered the question for a moment, and then said, "I think so. From what I've read on the subject, no two dimensions are exactly the same. There are differences – sometimes small, sometimes huge. It's even possible that . . ." she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

"– there is no magic here," Harry finished, catching on to her train of thought.

Hermione nodded ruefully. "In any case, we will need someone who can help us. And I think we can trust him."

"I agree."

"I wish I had access to the Ministry's library," she said wistfully. "I've got some books with me, but I don't think that they will be enough."

"Yes, I wanted to ask about your beaded bag. I thought you couldn't shrink an object with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it?"

"Erm, yes. Typically, you can't. But I found a way to do it," she announced proudly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Had to do a lot of digging and ended up inventing my own spell, but I managed."

"You're amazing, you are," said Harry, realizing only too late that he repeated Ron's favourite line to Hermione.

"Always the tone of surprise," she responded automatically, her smile suddenly slipping away as she looked down.

Harry knew that Hermione probably missed Ron as much as he missed Ginny. Desperately wanting to change the subject away from what they couldn't have, Harry asked, "Erm . . . and why did you continue carrying it with you? Your beaded bag, I mean? Even after the War? Not that I'm complaining . . ."

"Well," she looked up and wiped a stray tear, "with some of the Death Eaters still running loose, I wanted to be sure that if I ever became stranded, I would still have some resources. I didn't want to be unprepared. So, I've been carrying my library with me at all times, along with all the essentials – potions, money, clothing, and so on. And well, it came in handy, didn't it? It saved my life."

"Brilliant. However, we should get going. Wouldn't want to keep Pike waiting," Harry said, getting up and collecting his tray and Hermione's cup.

"Okay."

 _No matter what happens, we will be all right._

* * *

The doors to the briefing room slid open, revealing a room with a long, oval conference table and individual screens located in front of every chair. Several people were already seated around the table. Harry and Hermione were thankful to find that they were all familiar faces: Pike, Kirk, Spock, Uhura, Scotty, McCoy, Sulu, and Chekov.

Pike, who was seated at the head of the table, greeted Harry and Hermione with a friendly smile, "Harry, Hermione. How are you two doing?"

He gestured for them to take their seats between Kirk and McCoy. The captain still looked a bit pale and was in an autochair. Only his determination and impatience had spurred him into holding the meeting so soon, despite McCoy's recommendations against it.

Not expecting to see so many people in the briefing room, Harry and Hermione exchanged a nervous glance.

"Fine, thank you," Harry answered politely, taking a seat next to the doctor.

Pike acknowledged the wizard's response with a nod, and addressed his senior command. "All right, team, thank you for showing up. I know it's a very busy time and all, so I appreciate you all taking the time to come here."

"Aye," said Scotty, who was sitting across from Harry. "The lad and the lassie 'ave been a lot of help to us, sir. It's only fair that we try and help them now."

Voices of agreement echoed around him.

"Thank you, Mr. Scott," said Pike. "I have asked you all to come here, because our guests require our assistance – and I believe that each and every one of you can contribute to our understanding of the situation as well as its resolution."

"Excuse me, sir. What more do we need to understand?" asked Sulu, who was seated next to Scotty. "I thought we already knew that they've traveled in time," he gestured to Harry and Hermione.

"Not exactly," said Hermione, prompting everyone to turn and look at her.

"What?" asked Kirk in confusion from beside her.

"Well," started Harry uncertainly, "Hermione thinks that we didn't travel in time. Well, maybe we did that too, I don't know. But she thinks we're in a parallel universe."

"Parallel?" repeated McCoy. "Just how many damn universes are there?"

"Potentially? An infinite number," said Hermione.

"Fantastic," grumbled McCoy under his breath.

"Ms. Granger, may I inquire as to how you have deduced this?" asked Spock, who was seated to Pike's right.

"Well, for one thing, your history is different from ours . . . And there are a couple of other things that I've been able to determine through my magic," she said, anxiety emanating from her.

"Before we dive into the discussion any further," Pike cut in, "I want to assure you that Starfleet will not interfere with your magical society. I know you said that your world hides from ours – and I'm hoping that you'll tell us why, even though I'm assuming it is against the rules and laws of your magical world. Am I correct?"

"You are," confirmed Harry.

"If this has to do with your people's concern regarding our interference," Pike continued, "you need not worry. We have the Prime Directive. It's the embodiment of one of Starfleet's most important ethical principles. We do not interfere with the natural development of other societies or civilizations, even for reasons that we may perceive as beneficial to them. Starfleet operates under strict policy of non-interference. Every Starfleet officer is sworn to uphold the Prime Directive, even at the cost of their own life or the lives of their crew."

"Well, you've got your Prime Directive and we've got the Statute of Secrecy, which we've breached dozens of times since we got here," pointed out Harry with a sigh.

"What's that exactly? This Statute of Secrecy?" inquired Kirk.

"It's a law that's been established in the 17th century that required the Wizarding world to go into hiding," explained Hermione. "People like us have been persecuted, hunted down, and burned at the stake in the past, you see. All because we were different. Muggles feared that which they could not understand. A lot of innocent people died. Even those who didn't have anything to do with magic. Our people went into hiding to prevent anything similar from happening in the future."

"And where you came from – is it still like that? I mean, you aren't hunted anymore, are you?" inquired Uhura, a horrified expression on her face.

"Well, the majority of Muggles have no idea that our world even exists. But those who do – the families of Muggle-borns and those among Muggles who have married a witch or wizard – some of them are uncomfortable around magic. Some even think of us as freaks," said Harry bitterly, remembering the treatment he got from the Dursleys as a child.

"You may be a lot of things," declared Chekov, seated beside Sulu, "but 'freaks' iz not one of zem."

"And I don't think anyone here is uncomfortable with magic, right?" said Uhura, looking around at her crewmates. Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Lassie, not only am I comfortable with magic – I love it!" exclaimed Scotty enthusiastically, as if he'd recently discovered that Santa Claus was real.

"Granted, we were somewhat shocked when we first found out about it, but it's nothing we couldn't get used to," commented Sulu.

"The primary purpose of Starfleet is to _seek out new life and new civilizations and to go boldly where no one has gone before,_ " added Kirk. "So, as members of Starfleet, we strive to be open-minded people. And we are often reminded at the Academy that – regardless of our heritage, blood, species, and whatnot – we're a family, bound not by birth or blood, but by our ideals. The very differences that set others apart are what bring us together."

"So, you're explorers then?" asked Hermione. "I thought you were military."

"The defense of the Federation and its allies from threats, physical or otherwise, is one of Starfleet's functions, yes," confirmed Pike. "However, that function is secondary to deep space exploration, research, and diplomacy."

"You've mentioned this Federation many times now," said Harry. "What exactly is it?"

"The United Federation of Planets," said Spock, "commonly referred to as simple 'The Federation,' is an interstellar federal republic. It is composed of planetary governments that have agreed to exist semi-autonomously under a single central government. This alliance is based on the shared principles of universal liberty, rights, and equality. Furthermore, each planet has agreed to share their knowledge and resources in the regards to peaceful cooperation, scientific development, space exploration, and defensive capabilities."

"Hey, Hermione, that sounds a lot like your vision of the future of our society, doesn't it?" Harry said, nudging her lightly with his elbow and giving her a small crooked smile.

She rolled her eyes, knowing that he was probably remembering 'SPEW' again.

"So, what happens if you breach this Statute of Secrecy that you mentioned?" asked Kirk.

"Well, I don't work in the Improper Use of Magic Office," said Harry, "but I know that there are variety of punishments available to be enforced upon the offenders. They can confiscate and snap our wands, for example, and send us to live out the rest of our lives as Muggles. Or they can just chuck us in Azkaban, with the sentence varying in length depending upon the degree of the offense."

"What's Azkaban?" inquired Scotty.

"A wizarding prison."

"Harry, if there is a magical world here and if they have the same set of laws as ours does, I'm sure that we'll be able to explain the situation to them. They'll understand," Hermione spoke quickly. "There's a Clause in the Statute that states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and that includes situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch in question, or threaten the lives of any other witches, wizards, or Muggles present at the time of the – "

"Blimey, Hermione!" interrupted Harry, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Do you make it a personal goal to memorize every single book that you ever read?"

"I do not memorize every book I read, Harry. But there was a good reason for memorizing that particular Clause. Fifth year, remember?"

"How can I forget?" muttered Harry grumpily.

"So," started Pike, "now that I understand why your world hides from ours, I'm sure Starfleet can find a diplomatic solution to this situation. After all, you guys helped us save the galaxy."

"Ms. Granger, do you have a reason to believe that your magical world does not exist in our universe?" inquired Spock.

"It's a possibility, isn't it?"

"Indeed, it is," confirmed Spock. "I have recovered some information that could potentially be useful in proving or disproving that notion. It would also serve as a confirmation regarding your speculation that you are indeed in a parallel universe."

"Really?" asked Chekov.

Spock nodded. "I have accessed the biographical data from the archives and have found both of your records," he said, addressing Harry and Hermione and tapping on the screen in front of him.

"Wait a minute. You _hacked_ into the archives?" asked Kirk, shocked. "All biographical data older than a century or so is kept in a high security protected vault – for whatever reason – and can only be accessed with special permission from the Admiralty."

"I did not _hack_ into the archives," stated Spock coolly. He glanced at Pike quickly and back at Kirk. "I acquired permission to access the biographical data."

"It's true," confirmed Captain Pike. "Admiral Marcus himself granted permission. Spock, would you please?"

Spock tapped on his screen a few more times and an image of Harry Potter sans glasses and a scar on his forehead appeared on every screen, as well as on a hologram that suddenly manifested itself in the middle of the table.

"Unfortunately, biographical data is scarce for this time period, since much of it was destroyed or damaged during World War III. However, here is what I was able to discover regarding your counterparts' lives. I will start with yours, Mr. Potter," said Spock as he read the highlights of this world's Harry's file, " _Harry James Potter, born on July 31st 1972 in –_ "

"Bristol?" interrupted Harry, looking at his screen. "But I was born in Godric's Hollow in 1980!"

"Harry, let's just listen for now," Hermione said, placing her hand on top of Harry's.

Spock continued, " _Harry James Potter, born on July 31st 1972 in Bristol to parents Lily Josephine Potter (née Evans) and James Fleamont Potter. Siblings: Daniel John Potter and Jasmine Penelope Potter. Spouse: Juliet Grace Potter (née Granger)._ _Occupation: intelligence officer with MI6. Was killed in action in November of 1995 during an operation in New Delhi along with his spouse._ "

There was some other information on the screen, revealing which hospital he was born in, where he lived, went to school, got married, and so on and so forth.

Harry looked through it quickly and said, "Er – Hermione, you don't happen to have a relative by the name of 'Juliet Grace Granger', do you?" asked Harry, gobsmacked. Then he saw the expression on Hermione's face. "What is it?" he asked with concern.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I – I did," she swallowed.

"What? Who?"

"My sister," she whispered, furiously blinking back her tears and looking down.

"Er . . . Hermione, you don't have a sister," said Harry in confusion.

"I don't. Not anymore. But it looks like in this world she lived, and she was married to you. I mean, to your counterpart," she said, trying to turn his attention back to the screen.

"Hang on. _Not anymore_?" Harry echoed. "You mean you _used to_ have a sister? Why didn't I know anything about this?" he asked a little grumpily, not immediately thinking about how painful the topic might be for her.

"Harry, please," Hermione pleaded, her eyes watery. "Now is hardly the time and place to discuss this. I'll tell you everything. Just not here. Not now."

"Right," Harry said, taking a hold of one of Hermione's hands and giving it a squeeze. "I'm – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be an insensitive git. It's just very – unexpected."

Hermione merely nodded in response.

"Well, brilliant. Was there a Hermione Granger in this world too then?" Harry asked, turning to the science officer.

"Indeed, there was," confirmed Spock, tapping his screen a few more times. The image and the information on Harry's counterpart vanished from everyone's screens and the hologram and was replaced by that of Hermione's. This Hermione looked quite a bit different – courtesy of her very short hair.

" _Hermione Jane Granger, born on September 8th 1970 in London, England to parents Catherine Elizabeth Granger (née Brown) and David Jonathan Granger. Sister: Juliet Grace Potter (née Granger). Occupation: weapons system engineer. Was employed by British Army. Fought in the Eugenics Wars against the Augments. Was instrumental to winning the war via the development of a bioweapon keyed to the unique genetics of the Augments. Missing in action since January of 1996. Presumed dead._ "

Silence settled in the room as everyone processed the new information.

"Wow," said Chekov, being the first to break the silence.

Spock tapped his screen and the image of this world's Harry and Hermione were side by side now.

"Merlin's beard," said Harry, running his fingers through his hair.

"I apologize," said Spock, "but I fail to see how facial hair of any kind bears relevance on this –"

"Spock," Kirk cut him off, "It's probably just an expression. Sort of like 'Holy cow', right?" he asked, looking at Harry in question. The wizard nodded in confirmation.

"They're Muggles," Hermione whispered, indicating the holo. "They don't have an ounce of magic to them."

"Hermione, I know what you're thinking. But just because _they_ seem to be Muggles in this world," he said with a slight edge to his voice, pointing to their counterparts on the holo, "doesn't mean there is _no magic_ here!"

"No, it doesn't. You're right," she agreed. "But we have to be ready for any possibility, Harry."

"You used a term 'Muggle-born' earlier," said Uhura, pressing a button to make the hologram disappear, so that she could see Harry and Hermione better. "Does that mean what I think it does?"

Hermione nodded. "A Muggle-born is a magical person born to two non-magical parents. I am a Muggle-born. Both of my parents are dentists. I didn't even know I was a witch until the age of eleven. I always knew I was different somehow, because strange things always happened around me – like a book that I wanted to read would suddenly come flying towards me or things would just break to pieces if I was upset. It's called accidental magic. Every wizard and witch needs to learn to control their magic, that's why they go to school."

"So, let me get this straight: you're saying that people like us can have ankle biters that turn out to be like you?" asked McCoy.

"Yes."

"And how does that work?"

"No one knows exactly," answered Harry.

"There is a speculation," interjected Hermione, "that every Muggle-born witch or wizard has a wizarding ancestor somewhere on their family tree – in some cases, many, many generations back. It's possible that the magical genes might lay dormant for centuries and then resurface unexpectedly."

This was news for Harry, and he looked at her in puzzlement, but decided to leave any questions for later.

"Well, then, I'm afraid your magical society may not exist in our universe," said McCoy. "In fact, I'm not even sure there ever were people like you here. You see, I've run your blood samples through every Federation database, and there aren't any matches. The DNA sequence is unique to only the two of you. If Muggle-borns, as you call them, only find out that they're magical around the age of eleven, then we would certainly have their DNA in our database."

"What if in zis universe zere are no Muggle-borns and every magical baby is born only to magical parents?" mused Chekov.

"And what if the Wizarding world simply relocated to a different planet? One that's not part of the Federation?" speculated Sulu.

"That would be a bit of a stretch, but I suppose it is possible," commented Hermione. "You have to know what our world is like. The use of magic simply precludes the need for advanced technology – the sort of technology that I'm assuming would be necessary in order to relocate to another planet. However, if there is a magical world here, and they have truly relocated to another planet, I still have a hard time believing that there are no Muggle-borns. There are bound to be some – it's simply the nature of genetics. But how would they keep something like that hidden from your Federation then? Unless they truly did advance, and came up with new ways to hide."

"Excellent question," said Pike. "But it's one that I don't have an answer to right now."

"We still do not know how you came to be here," pointed out Spock, steering the conversation in different direction.

"There is a theory," spoke up Scotty, "that if an object has strong enough gravity, it could warp space, creating a tear that would link parallel universes."

"Einstein-Rosen Bridge!" exclaimed Chekov at the same time as Uhura exclaimed, "A wormhole!"

The engineer nodded and continued, "Aye, both terms would be correct. The only known object in the universe with that kinda force is a black hole."

"The question is: how to manipulate the black hole to create a wormhole," Kirk piped in.

"Hang on, a wormhole?" asked Harry.

"A wormhole is a hypothetical shortcut connecting two separate points in space-time," explained Spock. "Supposedly, it would be capable of bridging even the distance between billions of light years, as well as the gaps between different universes or different points in time. However, given the entirely theoretical nature of such an occurrence, there is no data available regarding how to traverse one. It would be nearly impossible to reach one's intended destination."

"So, basically, you'd never know where or when you'll end up if you go through one?" asked Harry.

"Precisely."

"Okay. I've seen what a black hole can do," Harry said, remembering how Vulcan was consumed by one. "Are you saying you could change one into a wormhole?"

"Aye, laddie. I know it sounds barmy. Usually a black hole is a giant and very powerful vacuum cleaner. But it is theoretically possible – with the right technology – to create a tunnel through space-time, or a wormhole, if you will," commented Scotty.

"But you guys didn't get here through any kind of black hole," interjected Sulu. "You just appeared right on the Bridge out of nowhere surrounded by some white light! There was absolutely nothing that could even remotely resemble a wormhole. Just a lot of brightness."

"You mentioned some kind of a Weil. I mean, V-veil," said Chekov, looking at Harry and Hermione.

"Yes, the one located in the Department of Mysteries, where I work," said Hermione.

"Department of Mysteries?" asked McCoy. "Is that what you call your hospital? I thought you were a doctor."

"A healer," corrected Spock.

"I am. I mean, I have the requisite training. But I received a job offer from the DoM and couldn't pass it up," she finished, shrugging her shoulders.

"What can you tell us about this Veil?" asked Pike.

"Well, it's located in the Death Chamber," said Harry. "To some people it just looks like a tall, empty archway. Some see the Veil itself hung on the archway, which appears as a tattered black curtain, swaying as though it's just been touched. Some people can even hear the voices of loved ones that have died, whispering. It's believed that the Veil separates the world of living from the world of the dead. The Unspeakables, like Hermione, who work in the Death Chamber study Death and try to uncover the mysteries of the Veil, since not much is known about it. That's why it's a little strange that we're still alive. Anything that goes through the Veil is supposed to die instantly."

"Unspeakables?" echoed Uhura.

"That's what people who work in the Department of Mysteries are called," explained Hermione. "It really doesn't make sense that we're alive though. Unless . . . Could it be?" she trailed off, her expression turning thoughtful.

"Er . . . Hermione?" prompted Harry, when Hermione didn't say anything anymore.

"Magical wormhole!" she speculated. "Dolohov's spell colliding with your Shield Charm and then going through the Veil must have created a magical wormhole of sorts. Or was it only Dolohov's spell? In any case, the question is – what spell was it? I didn't hear the incantation . . ."

"That's because there wasn't one. It was a nonverbal spell."

"Well, brilliant. How are we supposed to figure it out now? The light that shot out of his wand – I've never seen that colour of green either. It was acid green, and not forest green like the Killing Curse . . ."

"Oh, and your spells are colour-coded now?" remarked McCoy sarcastically.

"Believe it or not, but some are," said Harry. "It definitely wasn't a Killing Curse, because my Shield Charm protected us from it. And you know that there's no protection from the Killing Curse."

"Wait . . . Killing Curse?" asked Chekov, astounded. "You can actually . . . k-kill someone viz . . . viz a vand?"

"Kill, torture, and do all sorts of other nasty things," said Hermione, shuddering. "The list goes on really. Magic can be beautiful and it can heal and create."

At this, she picked up her wand to wordlessly conjure a paper dove and send it flying around the room, eliciting gasps of surprise and awes of admiration from everyone.

"But it can also destroy and be used for great evil."

She set the dove afire, startling everyone, and it crumbled to ashes which fell in the middle of the table.

"That's why I always say that it is a gift that has to be used responsibly," Hermione said as she vanished the ashes. "You see, magic by itself is neither good nor evil. It is only as good or as bad as the individual that wields it. It's the intent of the individual that uses it that matters. You have to know that in order for any spell to work, you really have to mean it. For example, you can't heal someone if you don't really want them healed." Nods of understanding went through the room. "And the Killing Curse – well, without the intent to kill someone, casting the curse might only give them a nosebleed."

Silence settled in the room, as everyone contemplated what Hermione had said.

"So, if we can find the Ministry and the Veil," started Harry, breaking the silence, "maybe we can recreate the way we came here?"

"That is assuming that there is a Ministry and a Veil here," said Hermione.

"How do you create a wormhole with your technology?" asked Harry, turning to the others.

"With the destruction of the Red Matter, we currently do not have the technology to artificially create a black hole. Neither do we know how to manipulate one to create a tunnel through space-time. It is all theoretical at the moment," commented Spock.

"Nero," interrupted Kirk. "The _Narada_ had such technology. And they did travel here through space-time by means of a wormhole."

"So, does zat mean . . ." started Chekov. "Could Nero also be from a parallel universe and not from ze future?"

"I think he could have been," interjected Sulu. "Hermione's explanation of time-travel only works if you think of time as a single thread. Only then is the timeline altered."

"Then is it possible that we're living out a parallel strand and not an alternate one," Uhura speculated. "If you believe that the future is immutable and that it already exists, then what we're doing can only change the past. The future where Nero came from – or if you prefer, the parallel he came from – will continue onward in whatever plane it exists. Only ours, only this one here and now, will be altered by what happened."

"If this one is changed," Scotty continued, "do the changes only affect this one, or are others affected as well?"

"A ripple effect across ze entire continuum," Chekov said, clearly excited by the possibilities, however theoretical they might remain. "But can such a ripple affect only parallel existences or, if it's strong enough, can it also affect a future zat has already happened?"

Closing his eyes and putting his hands over his ears, McCoy tried to tune himself out of the now animated and slightly chaotic discussion, muttering to himself, "That's it. I'm done. Think Kentucky. Think bluegrass. Quiet caves. Real food. Not parallel food."

Harry observed the conversation for a few moments, his head starting to spin.

"Look," he said, calling everyone for silence, slight desperation detectable in his voice, "can we focus on how to get us back?"

Evidently, McCoy's hands weren't pressed tightly enough over his ears, because he turned to frown at Harry.

"Mr. Potter, as I have already mentioned," Spock said, "we do not know how to manipulate a black hole to create a wormhole. And even if we did somehow manage to accomplish such a task, there is no guarantee that you would end up in your own universe, because there is potentially an infinite number of them. Moreover, wormholes are highly unstable. It is highly improbable that would survive the journey."

"Aye, finding your Prime universe, so to speak, would be impossible," said Scotty. "It would be like tryin' to find a specific grain of sand inside a desert tornado, wearing a blindfold – while bouncing on a trampoline."

More suggestions and theories flew back and forth, but Harry wasn't listening to them anymore. He suddenly felt like he was once again submerged in a pool of ice cold water in the Forest of Dean. He could hardly breathe.

It is said that one of the oldest and strongest emotions of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. And so, Harry – faced with the prospect that his detour into this new and foreign universe might become a permanent stay – found himself thinking that he'd rather battle a dragon, or a basilisk, or a dozen Dementors, or Acromantulas, or Death Eaters, or face Voldemort himself all over again. He'd face down anything really, so long as it was familiar to him.

Suddenly, he no longer looked forward to getting back to Earth. If what little he had seen on the _Enterprise_ was any indication – future factors aside – this world was very, very different from his own. He and Hermione weren't just time-displaced anymore. They were an-entire-bloody-universe-displaced.

Getting back to Earth wouldn't just result in culture shock. Harry was afraid it would upheave his world entirely . . .

But while fear might have been one of the oldest and strongest emotions of mankind, there was at least one other that was older and stronger still. It was the force that overpowered fear – that was at once more wonderful and terrible than death, than nature, than human intelligence. The one that protected Harry from the Killing Curse when he was just a baby . . . That force, that love, gave him hope. And hope was stronger than fear, for it provided the courage necessary to face whatever might come . . .

"Harry? Are you okay?" Pike asked, his voice concerned, halting all the conversation around them.

"What?" Harry asked, snapping out of whatever stupor he was in.

He looked around and realized that almost everyone was now looking at him and Hermione with concerned and sympathetic looks. Next to him, McCoy was rummaging in his medkit, looking for something. On Harry's other side, Hermione sat motionless with her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her eyes aimed at the floor. Kirk had one hand placed on her shoulder, and was murmuring something so softly that no one could make out the words. No one but Spock, it seemed, who was staring at the two with an unreadable expression. Only then did Harry realize his own position – sitting with his elbows on the table, head braced between his hands.

 _Well, brilliant. I must look on the verge of some kind of breakdown,_ Harry thought, straightening up in his seat. _This won't do. No matter what happens, I will be all right. WE will be all right. We_ will _find our way home._

"Are you okay?" Pike repeated his question. Harry gave a faint nod in response. "I know this is quite a shock for you two. I just want you to know that you are _not_ alone."

Harry nodded in thanks and turned to McCoy. "I won't be needing that, doctor. Thank you." He waved off the hypospray that McCoy pulled out of his medkit and was holding at the ready to inject Harry with its contents.

"You sure?" the doctor didn't sound convinced.

"Absolutely," Harry assured him in a steady voice.

He then turned to Spock and Scotty, "I know that you've said it's impossible for us to get back. But you see, my past experiences have taught me that there is very little that is truly impossible. Very difficult, maybe – but not impossible. I can't believe that I won't see my loved ones, my world again. I _won't_ believe it. There _has_ to be a way. I know you might think I'm in some sort of denial right now – and maybe I am. But the thing is, I am who I am right now because of the experiences that I've had – because of the friends who stand by me no matter what, because of the people I love and who love me back. And I am _not_ willing to just give it all up." He then turned to look at his friend. "Hermione, are you with me?"

"Harry, do you really have to ask?" she said, grasping his hand, her voice remarkably calm. "Of course I'm with you. No matter where, when, and what universe we are in – that's never going to change."

"Harry," said Pike. "I agree that after the recent events, we need to redefine 'impossible'. No one here is giving up," he said firmly, eyeing his senior command, as if daring any one of them to contradict him. "We will do everything we can to find a way to get you two home." Voices of agreement echoed around him. "I think the best place to start is with looking for your magical community on Earth. If that doesn't turn up any results, we'll continue searching the galaxy. And in the meantime – with the constant advances and breakthroughs that our science makes – it's possible that a different solution will be found."

"I will speak with my father and request permission for you to stay at the Vulcan Embassy for as long as necessary," said Spock. "I am certain that the Vulcan High Council will not object."

"The Vulcan Embassy?" asked Pike. "That won't be necessary, Spock. I'll speak with the Vulcan High Council and convey my gratitude for their generosity, but I think that they'll have enough on their plate as it is, given recent events. We shouldn't burden them any further – especially since Harry and Hermione already have a place to stay when we get back to Earth."

"We do?" asked Harry in confusion.

"That's right. Admiral Marcus has arranged accommodations for you, and is probably taking care of your citizenship paperwork as we speak."

Dumbfounded, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, wondering who this Admiral Marcus was and why he seemed to have taken so much interest in them.

Filing that thought for later, Harry said earnestly, "Thank you. Thank you all for everything. We really appreciate it."

"You are welcome," Pike responded sincerely. "And we should be the ones thanking you. Without the two of you, countless lives would have been lost. I know for certain that I wouldn't be sitting here right now."

Everyone's expressions turned solemn as the horror of the recent events was brought once more to the forefront of everyone's attention.

"Just remember one thing – no matter what happens, you are not alone. And you never will be. You're a part of this family now."


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 14

 ** _Stardate 2258.50 – U.S.S. Enterprise, Alpha Quadrant_**

Everyone handled grief differently. Hermione had been right about that.

She and Harry had spent the remaining few days before the arrival of the escort ships (that were delayed on their way to rendezvous with the _Enterprise_ ) researching and helping where they could – one in the Medbay and the other in Engineering – and they had realized that most of those aboard the _Enterprise_ had no idea what it felt like when the sky came crashing down on them. And so it fell to those who had at least some experience to watch over the others as everyone tried to piece themselves back together and heal, offering quiet support, a pat on the shoulder, or a smile.

Uhura often remained on duty, even when her shift was over. Attending to the ship's communications required nearly all of her attention, inundated as she was with the countless outgoing and incoming messages moving to and fro between crew members and their loved ones. Working overtime was both a way to help, and a useful method in regards to sorting out her thoughts and feeling. Unlike Spock, who almost religiously meditated, and had taught her the process, Nyota still felt like she couldn't quite get the hang of it – despite the many hours she had spent with him seated in a cross-legged position in front of his _asenoi_. Instead, she had found that she preferred to remain in the heart of the action; her quarters, which she currently shared with Tracey and Hermione, saw little of her because of the sheer amount of emotional upset that she had to work through.

" _I hope you don't mind, but I've arranged with the quartermaster for you to be assigned with us,"_ Nyota had told Hermione. _"I thought that you might prefer to be placed with someone you know – at least a little bit – instead of with complete strangers."_

Nyota was like Ginny in some ways – strong, bold, beautiful, intelligent, self-assured, and kind. The familiarity of the traits, as well as the fact that said traits were admirable in their own right, made it very easy for Hermione to see Uhura as a friend very quickly.

Spock was subdued and talked very little as he tried to sort through a welter of emotions that he wasn't quite accustomed to facing. He ate sporadically and did not sleep, spending what little free time he had meditating. He couldn't deny the fact that in addition to his Vulcan heritage, there was something unmistakably human in him, and he could not just shut away that part of him – regardless of how much he had tried. In addition to busying himself with organizing the crew rotation, coordinating the repairs, and reviewing the towing procedures to get the _Enterprise_ safely to spacedock, he also met Vulcan Elders and other Vulcans aboard the ship, and set up communications protocols in order to contact all remaining survivors scattered across the galaxy and register them in a comprehensive database. He had remembered Hermione's advice about channeling the negative emotions into something constructive and, to his surprise, had found all these efforts oddly therapeutic.

Scotty – who with Harry's help was finally getting somewhere with the repairs despite their very limited resources – remained enthusiastic and loud. He made jokes and chatted with those around him, distracting everyone from the doom and gloom that had befallen them. He practically lived on the Engineering deck, returning to his quarters (which he currently shared with Harry) only to get changed and get a bit of sleep here and there.

Harry, unlike Hermione, couldn't spend prolonged amounts of time researching and studying. When he tried, he found his thoughts often drifting back home and the people he loved, which only invited an overwhelming sense of despair that threatened to consume him whole. That is why he welcomed the noisy environment of the Engineering deck. He needed a distraction and an escape from his own thoughts, and Scotty was more than happy to provide him that. As the two of them worked together on fixing this and that, the Scotsman would enthusiastically talk his ear off about a number of things – different pieces of equipment, or technology, or a scientific discovery, or what life was like in general in this universe and in this timeframe.

McCoy, whose barked orders and general grouchiness were a way of expressing worry and concern, remained tireless in his own work. He planned to sort through his own feelings and emotions later. Right now, he felt that the people in his care took priority.

Sulu had an air of confidence to him that was not false, but not entirely comfortable either. Whenever he was left with the conn on the Bridge, he wore the mantle of responsibility with more efficiency than ease. In order to maintain control of his emotions and reign in his inner turmoil, he needed to feel in control of his surroundings, to know his duties to the letter, and then fulfill them.

Chekov was mostly quiet as he considered everything that had happened, and how he had reacted to it all. He split his time between navigating the ship during his shift and volunteering to help with the repairs during some of his off-shift hours. It was as if he had realized the weight of his existence, his mind, his abilities – and seen them silhouetted against the world as he was tossed into a new perspective that mere intelligence and book-work couldn't have prepared him for.

Pike had finally been able to liberate himself from the Medical Bay and leave it on his own two feet, thanks to McCoy's and Hermione's efforts. Up and running once more, he refused to dwell on the lives consumed in the fires of Nero's insanity. Instead, having left his First Officer in charge, he spent most of his time in his ready room – going through reports and assembling his own, composing recommendations for Starfleet Command, and preparing to face the media at Starbase 1.

Kirk was everywhere: coordinating with the ship's departments to ensure they presented their best possible face upon arriving at spacedock, checking on the comfort of the Vulcan refugees, composing his own commendations for the men and women he'd been so briefly in charge of, and doing all the million and one things that elevated a true commander above the chaff that filled too many chairs in the fleet. One small part of Academy training had dealt with the ways in which a senior officer could personally comfort those who had lost a loved one in battle or on general duty. So Kirk, despite his own grief – or perhaps better equipped because of it, dusted off his old lessons and tried to offer support to those under his command.

He could recall nothing in the manuals, however, that dealt with how to console survivors on the loss of their entire world. It was left to the Vulcan Elders to mind-meld when possible with the other Vulcans currently on the _Enterprise,_ and see to their treatment with appropriate medications when mind-to-mind contact proved insufficient. While it was clear to everyone that the Vulcans were handling the tragedy far better than a group of humans might under the same circumstances, there were still far too many cases of mind-shock.

Whenever Kirk wasn't on active duty, he sought out Hermione, who (apart from occasionally helping McCoy in the Medbay) had thrown herself into research with abandon. Jim had never seen anyone – not even his brother, whom he considered a bookworm with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge – so excited, even somewhat obsessed with studying. He could only see her habits as somewhat amusing and rather charming. He found himself often, and sometimes unintentionally, opening up to her. He didn't know why, but he felt the need to be around her, to talk to her, to tell her about himself and find out more about her in turn. This girl had witnessed his most vulnerable self, had allowed him to spill out his heart and mind, all the while providing support and understanding that no one – not even Bones or Pike – had ever been able to provide. She was like his personal counselor – attentive, insightful, non-judgmental. He could practically feel his burden getting lighter by just talking to her.

Kirk told her about his father, how the man had sacrificed himself in order to save the remaining crew of the _Kelvin,_ and had, in the process, given Jim a larger-than-life hero to live up to. He told her about his childhood, his mother, his brother, and Frank. He spoke of his resentment towards his mother when she was distant, and his anger when she had married Frank, re-enlisted in Starfleet, and left him and his brother in care of a tyrant.

 _["Well, you could analyze the situation and try to understand how she was feeling and why she made certain choices. Maybe then you might be able to find some kind of resolution," Hermione told him._

 _When Jim had asked her to elaborate, she continued, "Well, she was obviously heartbroken and grieving over the loss of your father. I expect she was feeling confused because she had lost someone very important in her life, and it can be very difficult trying to figure out a way to continue with your life when that happens. It's possible that she was also going through some form of postpartum depression, which would have made things a lot worse. The process of having children comes with all sorts of hormones that can wreak emotional havoc. Then I imagine she was feeling guilty because she was alive and your father was dead. And she was most likely feeling lonely and powerless and abandoned. In addition, she was angry with Nero for taking away the love of her life and putting her in that situation. On top of all this, she most likely experienced fear – fear to face the world without your dad, to raise you and your brother alone, and fear that she might fail as a mother, as a person."_

 _All Kirk could do at that moment was just stare at her in stunned silence for a few moments, before he could find his voice again and say, "Wow. I never even thought about it that way."_

 _He considered something for a few moments and said, "But she loved my dad. Like, a lot. Everyone said so and I know so. I get it, I do, wanting to move on and all, but . . . Why did she marry Frank? How_ could _she marry him? How could she even replace someone she loved so much with such a poor excuse of a person? I sure as hell couldn't."_

" _Have you ever loved someone so much? Like the love your mum and dad had?" she asked, her brown eyes penetrating. "It's all too easy to look at a situation from the outside and pass judgement. However, as a famous proverb says, 'Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes'."_

" _I'm not judging her," Jim tried to defend._

 _Hermione simply raised one eyebrow and he sighed, "Fine. Maybe I am. Argh!"_

" _James, all I'm trying to do is encourage you to at least try and empathize with her. You were a child. It is normal for children to want love, affection, and attention. That's what they know. That's what they understand. You couldn't have possibly understood her grief when you were little. But now that you're older, it's a different story. We all make mistakes. No one is perfect. No one. I can't tell you why she married Frank. Maybe she accepted him because she felt that's what she deserved. Maybe she felt like she wasn't good enough for anything more, because she felt so broken and brittle. Or I may be completely wrong and there's another reason entirely behind her decision. You can always ask her about it," she suggested._

 _They sat there silently for a moment, Kirk staring blankly into space, before he said, "I feel like an ass. I was a selfish, egotistical prick. And not just because of the way I behaved towards her, but also . . ." he trailed off._

 _She gave him a look that conveyed support. He felt grateful that there was no judgement in her eyes._

" _Well then, you know the solution, don't you?" she asked gently, taking hold of one of his hands._

 _Jim merely stared at her in response._

 _"James, there is a really good chance that I might never see my parents again. And I just wish that I could at least tell them how much I love them. I never really told them that, you know? Not enough anyway. You don't have to make the same mistake that I did. You can fix this – whatever it is that's between you and your mum. James, you are the creator of your own life. If life is a canvas, then you are an artist: every day it's up to you to decide if you'd like to keep on painting the same old picture or create a new one."]_

That conversation had given him a lot to consider. It was also the reason why, when Uhura informed him that he had a personal transmission from Lieutenant Commander Kirk, he didn't just ignore it as he might have otherwise.

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.50 – U.S.S. Valiant, Starbase 11 spacedock_**

Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk of the _U.S.S. Valiant_ practically ran to her quarters from the science lab. The communications officer had informed her that he had finally been able to patch her through to Lieutenant James Kirk of the _U.S.S. Enterprise,_ and that the personal transmission was now on standby in her quarters _._

The _Valiant_ had been exploring a system with a quasar-like formation, and the ionization was interfering with their instrumentation and comms. They'd been incommunicado for nearly a week. As they were en route to Starbase 11 for repairs and reprovisioning, they had received the latest news from Starfleet Command regarding Romulan attacks on the Klingons, the Federation, and the destruction of Vulcan. For two days now, Lieutenant Niebles had been trying to patch through a couple of members of the _Valiant_ 's crew to their family members on the _Enterprise –_ with little to no success. Now that the transmission was finally there, Winona didn't quite know exactly what to do, what to feel, or what to expect. She was happy and terrified at the same time.

It was hard, so very hard to pull herself together for the sake of her sons and continue on with life after George had gone out in a blaze of glory on that dreadful day, and the birth of her youngest son had been tainted by loss. The last conversation she had with her husband would forever be ingrained in her memory . . .

 _["George? The shuttle's leaving," she said, breathing heavily in between very painful contractions. "Where are you?"_

" _Sweetheart, listen to me," he responded._

 _Her heart sank at his tone, and somehow, she already knew what he would say next._

 _"I'm not gonna be there."_

" _No," she said, refusing to believe it, new tears beginning to run down her cheeks._

" _This is the only way you'll survive," said George, his voice firm, full of determination and sorrow._

" _Are you still on the ship? You have to be here!" she exclaimed, desperation and panic clear in her voice._

" _The shuttles will never make it if I don't fight them off."]_

She'd tried. God knows, she'd tried her best to be a good mother. But it was evident to her that she had failed.

 _["George, I can't do this without you."]_

The first few years had been especially difficult. If it hadn't been for the support of her mother-in-law and her close friend Louisa, she probably wouldn't have even found the will to get out of bed every day.

After the birth of their first child, George and Winona had spent two years apart – it was the maximum amount of time that she'd been able to stay away from Starfleet without resigning her commission. She had stayed on the farm and raised George Jr. with her in-laws. And when she was finally assigned to the _Kelvin_ with George, she'd gotten pregnant again. She'd been prepared to resign her commission and go back to their farm house in Iowa to raise their children. She'd been prepared for virtual single-motherhood and everything it entailed. She'd been prepared for long-distance calls and a few weeks of leave every now and again – if they were fortunate – until he'd been able to reach the Admiralty and be closer to home. She'd been prepared for all that, because she loved him so much.

But she hadn't been prepared to face the universe without George in it. In some ways, even with all the years separating her from his loss, she still wasn't. The intense pain, that had originally felt like someone had cut out her heart with a knife and mercilessly stomped on it, was now reduced to a dull ache in her chest.

She had begun calling her oldest son by the nickname Sam, because it was unbearable to hear the echo of her husband's name. She had cried as often as she smiled, looking at her youngest son – a miniature carbon copy of George in his looks, especially the eyes.

 _["What is it?" asked George expectantly, hearing the cries of a newborn baby._

" _It's a boy," responded Winona._

" _A boy?" echoed her husband, longing and joy evident in his voice. "Tell me – tell me about him."_

" _He's beautiful," she said, sobbing and looking at the little bundle in her arms – startlingly bright blue eyes, his father's eyes, looking back at her. "He's so beautiful. He looks like you. He has your eyes, George."_

" _What are we gonna call him?" he asked, voice cracking._

" _We can name him after your father," suggested Winona._

" _Tiberius? Are you kidding me?" George asked and a strange sound – something between a choke and a chuckle – emerged from his throat. "No, that's the worst. Let's name him after your dad. Let's call him Jim."_

" _Jim," she breathed and, in spite of everything, smiled at her newborn son. "Okay. Jim it is."]_

She had endured the curious and pitying looks, the countless strangers whispering behind her back – Starfleet related or not. She had even accepted the fact that she forever would be the tragic widow of the _Kelvin_ 's hero – Acting Captain George Kirk . . .

He was not the first person she'd lost in her life, and she was afraid he wouldn't be the last. She had lost both of her parents several years prior to marrying George – and Tiberius, George's father, passed away shortly after Winona found out she was pregnant with Jim. It was always painful to lose someone you love, but George's death hurt worst of them all.

So many future prospects. So many plans unrealized, so many hopes and dreams unfulfilled. So many years unlived . . . Everything was shattered the moment she lost him. He was her other half, and she feared she would never be whole again. Never.

By the time Jimmy was three, the echoes of her fractured dreams ( _their_ dreams) had driven her out of the farmhouse in Iowa. The Federation research facilities located near the Riverside shipyards had been happy enough to hire her, with her qualifications as a biologist. Brunhilde, her mother-in-law, had looked after the children during the day, for as long as her health held. The steady, painstaking work had kept Winona going when she was still too numb to think of the future. It forced her to get up every morning and do _something_ rather than spend most of her time in their bed, curled around the memory of an absent body.

And then she'd met Frank. He was no George – no one ever would or could be George. But Frank had seen something in her weary, fragile self that she'd forgotten. He'd given her back the ability to believe in herself again, to be the Winona Davis who'd looked up at the stars and seen only endless possibility rather than echoing emptiness. He'd been there for her after Brunhilde passed away.

In retrospect, of all the mistakes that Winona had made during her journey of parenting, marrying Frank and re-enlisting in Starfleet might have been the biggest one. Initially, she'd thought that he and the children got along well enough. However, as Winona re-enlisted in Starfleet and started accepting off-planet assignments again – just short ones initially – things got steadily worse.

She still doesn't know exactly where, when and how she had missed the line between natural rebellion and criminal mischief; between understandable resentment of a man who was seemingly there to replace their hero father – and who could never in a thousand years live up to him – and sheer stubborn hatefulness? Should she have found another way to heal, instead of going off-planet? Had there even been another way? Winona didn't know. She only knew that by the time Jim was twelve, Sam had run away from home, and Jim had nearly killed himself wrecking his father's antique Corvette to prevent Frank from selling it.

She had given it all up then – her Starfleet career, her dreams of deep space and exploration and finding new worlds and species – to be there for her children, physically as well as mentally this time. She'd divorced Frank and got herself a job at the local research facility. However, she'd never been able to reach her boys in heart and in mind again. She couldn't blame them. She could only blame herself. By the time she was healed enough to give them the love and the affection they wanted and deserved, it was too late.

Unfortunately, parenting didn't come with the instruction manual. If it did, she might not have found herself in this mess.

After Sam had gained early acceptance to the University of Chicago and left the house, Jim spent a lot of his time escaping the house, breaking the law, drinking, and working mysterious part-time jobs. Through the awkward conversations she'd had with her sons through the years, she knew that Sam had become a biologist, married another scientist like himself named Aurelan, and settled on Deneva. Sam was always smart, loved to read, and wanted to become a scientist. And Jim, having accepted a dare thrown at him in his father's name, had enrolled into Starfleet Academy. Although it was a good thing that Jim had finally found something to do with his life other than waste it away, it still stung that a stranger had been able to reach her son where she could not . . .

Reaching her quarters, Winona sat down on the edge of her chair. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, wiped her sweaty palms on the hem of her blue dress, and accepted the transmission. The screen fizzled and cleared, revealing the handsome face of her son.

For a moment there, looking at her son, she thought she had seen the ghost of George. He looked so much like his father. Tears came to her eyes. She stretched out her arm towards the screen of her terminal as if she could reach through space and touch him.

"Jim," she practically choked out.

" _Hi, mom,_ " he replied, smiling uncertainly.

He wasn't quite prepared to face her, he realized. She looked quite different from when he'd last seen her – she had lost some weight, the worry lines on her forehead had increased, her hair had a lot more grey in it.

"Oh, Jim. I was so worried, so scared. We received reports . . . about Vulcan . . . and the ships . . ."

" _I'm fine, mom,_ " his tone was serious and his smile disappeared. " _I was fortunate enough to end up on the_ Enterprise _when we launched, and then . . . it's kind of a long story . . ._ "

"I'm just happy that you're okay."

" _Yeah,_ " he responded.

An awkward silence settled between them. His curt responses and aloofness weren't that uncommon. For a moment, Winona even started worrying that he would just say his goodbyes and terminate the connection, as he had often done through the years.

Trying to fill the silence, she asked, "Did you talk to Sam yet?"

Jim nodded. " _He was able to get a hold of me earlier. We had a little chat. He said he'd be on Earth for my graduation._ "

"Jim, that's wonderful!"

Jim nodded again, his mind obviously on something else, and said, " _Listen, mom. I told Sam and . . . I think you should know as well. We got him. He's dead._ "

"Jim, who are you talking . . ." she started and then realization hit her – the lighting storm in space, forty seven Klingon warbirds destroyed near Rura Penthe, eleven Federation ships gone in a blink of an eye, a black hole that consumed Vulcan. She'd been so preoccupied with trying to reach her son that she hadn't put two and two together. How could she have missed this? Of course.

"Oh," was all she managed to say, letting out a shaky breath.

" _Yeah, the sonofabitch is gone,_ " said Jim darkly. " _Along with his monstrosity of a ship. And he'll never kill or hurt anyone ever again._ "

"How did you manage to defeat him?" Winona choked out, trying to control the trembling of her body, as an image of the gargantuan ship that she had briefly seen through the view port of their medical shuttle – the image that haunted her nightmares – was brought to the forefront of her mind.

" _Well, it's classified. I can't tell you much. Only that we had some help._ "

All Winona could do was nod numbly as long-stifled hatred and dread washed over her, only for it to be replaced by relief that the cruel Romulan bastard who'd killed her husband was dead. Whoever had helped the _Enterprise_ crew defeat that monster had her eternal gratitude.

She took a deep breath to compose herself and remembered how the _Valiant_ 's communications officer referred to him.

"And you – you are the First Officer of the _Enterprise_ now? You haven't even graduated yet!" she half-asked, half-exclaimed.

" _Well, Acting First Officer, yes. That came later though. I was an unauthorized stowaway first. And then I also was Acting Captain for a while_ . . ."

Winona blanched and her blood ran cold. Not only did the history seem to be repeating itself, but it seemed to be repeating itself in exactly the same way. Her expression turned to a horrified one as she remembered another First Officer, another Lieutenant Kirk, taking up the mantle of the captain of the _U.S.S. Kelvin_ , facing an enemy that was many times superior to them in order to save his crew.

Realizing that not only she almost lost her son, but she nearly lost him under the exact same circumstances that she had lost her husband, Winona couldn't stop a strangled sob from escaping her lips.

"I love you, Jim," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You do know that, right? I know that over the years I may not have been able to show you just how much I love you. And . . . and I am so sorry for everything – for the mistakes I've made, for not being a good enough mother to you and Sam, for not being there when you needed me –"

" _Mom! Mom, please,_ " he gently interrupted her. " _I forgive you. I may not fully understand why you behaved a certain way and did the things that you did and all . . . It's just . . . the recent events have given me a different perspective._ "

That was putting it mildly, actually. Having seen what the mere thought of losing his mother did to Spock, having seen the look in the Vulcan's eyes after beaming up from the doomed planet, having seen people like Harry and Hermione who'd lost everything and everyone they knew – Kirk simply could not and did not want to continue ignoring his mother's attempts to reach him and be part of his life.

" _And I must admit – someone also helped me open my eyes and understand you better. The point is, I want to begin again. I want to have you in my life. And I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I wasn't an angel either. I'm very sorry for being such a git_ . . ." he paused for a moment, lips pulling up in one corner in a thoughtful expression, and then continued, " _for being an idiot and for saying all those horrible things about you, about your career, about –_ "

"Jim," she stopped him. "It's okay, I forgive you. I did a long time ago. I'm your mother, remember? No matter what happens, that's never going to change."

" _Thank you,_ " he smiled.

"And 'a git'?" she teased lightly. "Do you have British friends I don't know about?"

" _You have no idea,_ " his smile widened as he gave his head a shake. " _Wait, what? You know about my friends?"_

"Of course! What did you think, mister, that just because you refused to talk to me, I wasn't going to keep tabs on you? You're my son; I'll always want to know what's going on in your life."

" _But how? I thought you spend almost all of your time on missions off-planet now_ . . ."

"Christopher Pike."

" _Pike?"_ repeated Jim incredulously.

"Yes, I went to see him after I found out that he talked you into joining Starfleet. He had to endure some of my yelling. And . . . I may or may not have slapped him," she finished quietly, eyes cast downward in shame.

" _What?"_

"Yeah," Winona said, feeling embarrassed. "I do still feel bad about that, by the way. It was out of line. Not only did he outrank me, but it was also completely inappropriate. He'd given you this whole new life, and I . . . I was just – I don't know what came over me. I guess I was just scared. You can't really blame me after what happened to your father. And I know I was being a hypocrite, since here I am, working in space also. Pike is a good man though. He accepted my apology, and not only did he not report me or have me court-martialed for assaulting him, but he was quite understanding. He's been sending me updates about you every now and then, assuring me that you are okay."

She glanced at him nervously. "I'm sorry . . . about your friends Mitchell and Kelso. I heard they were on the _Challenger._ "

Jim nodded sadly and looked down. " _According to the latest updates we received from Starfleet Command, 78% of the senior cadets are dead. And those who were killed at Vulcan – there aren't even any bodies left to bury. Everything was sucked into that black hole along with the planet._ "

After a moment of silence, he said, " _Mom?"_

"Yes?"

" _I love you._ "

 _["Sweetheart? Sweetheart, can you hear me?" asked George desperately, as the countdown on the monitors shrank towards zero, counting out the last seconds of his life._

" _Yes. Yes, I hear you!" replied Winona, sobbing uncontrollably._

" _I love you so much. I love you. I love –"]_

"I love you too, Jim . . . Just – don't scare me like this again, okay? I don't know if my poor heart can handle it."

" _I can't promise that, mom. Pike said that he's going to make sure that the field promotions sticks. At least as far as a Commander. Probably won't be on the_ Enterprise _, though,"_ he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck _. "And Admiral Barnett might scream bloody murder, since I'm technically on academic suspension_ . . ."

"Academic suspension?" Winona asked, raising both of her eyebrows.

" _Er . . . yeah,_ " says Jim uncertainly, a sheepish smile appearing on his lips. " _It's kind of a –_ "

"Long story?" she finished for him, smiling fondly at her son, who nodded in confirmation. "How's Captain Pike?"

" _He's fine now, thankfully. He was pretty badly beat up when we got him from that ship, but he's back on his feet._ "

For a moment, all Winona could do was stare at her son. Another aspect of history was repeating itself. But unlike the _Kelvin_ 's Richard Robau, Christopher Pike had survived it all. He had survived to see Jim do his job.

She nodded and decided to change the subject, "Listen. The _Valiant_ was scheduled to return to Starbase 1 right before your graduation, but in the light of recent events, we've been called back early. . . So, I _will_ see you soon, Jimmy?"

" _Yeah,_ " nodded Jim in confirmation. " _And not 'Jimmy'. Please, don't call me that. I'm not a kid anymore_."

She smiled gently at her son. He certainly had grown up. She could see it in his eyes.

"No, you are not," Winona confirmed, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. "In the meantime, Jim, do try and stay out of trouble, okay?"

" _I'll do my best._ "

"Maybe these British friends of yours can help you with that?"

" _They just might, mom. They just might._ " He then reached for his screen, and with one last smile, he terminated the connection with a quiet, " _Kirk out._ "

Fingers still touching her own screen, Winona whispered into the silence the words that she had repeated countless times over the years, " _George, you should be here._ "

* * *

 ** _October 29th, 2001 – the Burrow, England_**

Daylight burst through the tiny window, illuminating the room and its sole occupant. It was clearly a boy's room, with nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper covered with the posters of the same seven witches and wizards – the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. The room was mostly devoid of any possessions, apart from a few items strewn here and there: a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards, chess pieces laying on the floor, a small pile of books stacked untidily in one corner, a few boxes in another, clothes scattered across the bed and the floor. _"The Boy Who Lived and the Brightest Witch of Her Age Killed in a Ministry Attack", "The Wizarding Britain Grieves for the Loss of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger", "The Golden Trio is Trio No Longer", "Memorial to Be Erected in Honour of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger" –_ those were some of the headlines from the newspapers that were cluttered in a heap on the desk along with a pile of unread letters. If one were to use a single word to describe the state of this room, that word would be 'a mess'.

That same word could be used to describe the mental and physical state of the room's current occupant. Ronald Weasley sat on his unmade bed holding two objects in his hands – a photograph of himself, his best friend, and his fiancée in one, and an intricate feminine bracelet in the other. He looked very disheveled. His ginger hair was unkempt and looked as though he'd run his hands through it repeatedly, his face bore several days worth of stubble, his blue eyes – usually bright and full of laughter – were blood-shot and lifeless; his face looked sunken, his cheeks hollow and covered in the traces of dried tears. Overall, he was the very image of a man deeply grieving.

He wondered, briefly, what Harry and Hermione would say if they were to see him right now.

 _"Get a grip, mate,"_ Harry would probably say. _"Life isn't over yet."_

And Hermione would add, in that bossy tone of hers that he often found annoying, but almost always endearing in spite of that, _"Honestly, Ronald, stop thinking only about yourself. Think of your family. It can't be easy on them either . . ."_

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when someone sharply knocked on his door and yanked at the handle, having managed to break his silencing charm and the wards that he'd set up. However, they obviously couldn't unlock the door.

"Go away," Ron said, his voice hoarse and barely above whisper.

The person on the other side of the door either didn't hear him or didn't care, for they continued knocking incessantly.

"Go away!" he repeated, louder this time.

"Ronald Billius Weasley!" Ginny's angry voice filled the room. "You unlock this door right now, or I will _Reducto_ it to pieces! I'm counting to three. One . . ."

Ron immediately set down the objects in his hands, picked up his wand, and unlocked the door. Ginny, just like Hermione, could be rather scary sometimes. His sister definitely wasn't someone to mess with – her threats were never empty and she would most likely not wait till 'three' to blow that door off its hinges. Knowing her, she'd also probably add her favorite Bat-Bogey Hex for good measure, and Ron didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.

The door opened with a bang, revealing a fuming Ginny. Even though her cheeks were flushed with anger, her blue eyes were just as dull and grief-stricken as Ron's.

"Just what do you think you are doing? Locking yourself up here for days on end! Ignoring everyone! I lost my fiancé and my friend too, but I don't spend all of my time barricading myself in my room! Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? You nearly gave mum a heart attack! She's scared out of her mind that you might try something stupid! We've lost enough loved ones already! Did you stop to think for a moment what this did to others? Have you even visited her parents? You're not the only one who's grieving!" She ended her rant, breathing heavily.

"I'm not as strong as you," Ron mumbled in response, looking away.

"Strong?" she repeated numbly. "Has the War taught you _nothing_? Strength is in unity! Or have you forgotten that we're a family? We share our joys and our sorrows. We share the grief, so that it is at least somewhat _bearable_. Isn't that what you said to George after Fred . . ." she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. Even three years later, it was still hard for her to speak of their brother's death.

"Hermione said that. I only repeated . . ."

"Regardless, you must have believed it enough to repeat it. And here you are, locked up in your room and shutting everyone out. You barely left this place ever since that attack in the Department of Mys –"

"DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT THAT PLACE!" Ron bellowed, cutting her off, his face and ears turning red and his fingers clenching into fists.

"I – I . . ." Ginny seemed taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"What's going on there?" sounded George's alarmed voice. "Ah, ickle Ronniekins finally decided to show his face. How nice of you."

He took in Ron's appearance.

"You look like a right mess. Are you trying to become our very own greasy-haired git? I must say, Ronnie, you don't really need to try all that hard," George tried to joke.

After losing Fred, he'd never quite been himself again, and hadn't thought he would ever be able to make another joke. But Fred would want him to be happy. He'd want him to continue living life to the fullest, making jokes, smiling, and making other people smile. Even in the hardest of times.

"Shut it, George," muttered Ron, sinking back into his bed.

"George? Ron? Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley's concerned voice called from downstairs. "Is everything all right up there, dears?"

"It's all good, mum," George responded. "Nothing to worry about. We'll be down soon."

"Just give me a moment," Ron said quietly, taking a hold of his head with both hands and looking down at the floor. "I'll come down. I promise. Just give me a moment."

"You should probably take a shower first, though. You hair is clearly crying out for some shampoo," pointed out George, plopping himself on the bed next to Ron. "And shave off all that scruff. Wouldn't want dear old Merlin feeling threatened now, would we?"

A tiny grey owl burst through the window, struggling to carry the newest issue of the _Daily Prophet_. He zoomed in front of Ron and let go of his burden. At that exact moment, Ron pointed his wand at the paper and said, " _Incendio._ " Pigwidgeon hooted shrilly, startled by the _Prophet_ suddenly bursting into flames, and started zooming around the room, twittering madly with indignation.

"Careful there, Ron. You almost killed Pig," noted George.

"I wouldn't have," defended Ron. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" George challenged. "I wouldn't trust your judgement right now."

"Kingsley's here," Ginny said, changing the subject, as she closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh. "He wanted to talk to you –"

"I'm not going back," Ron interrupted, and George and Ginny immediately understood what he meant.

"He also came to tell us that they think they've got all the Death Eaters," said Ginny. "Most of them were at the Ministry that day anyway. It was their desperate attempt to get to a Time-Turner."

"Time-Turner?" asked Ron in confusion. "I thought those bloody things were all destroyed five years ago?"

"They were," confirmed George. "And that's why Granger was invited to work in the Department of Mys . . ." he trailed off, as at the mention of the Department Ron turned to him sharply and gave him a glare that would kill.

George cleared his throat, "Erm – yes, _that_ place. She was supposed to help create more Time-Turners. Brightest Witch and all that. And apparently she succeeded. As if she wouldn't," he scoffed. "It's our Granger we're talking about. There isn't a thing she can't do."

"If only she could come back from the dead," said Ron quietly.

"All of this because of a stupid Time-Turner," said Ginny bitterly. "I wish they had never been invented."

"How did they get in there?" demanded Ron. "With all the security measures and all?"

"Polyjuice Potion," answered George. "Those dunderheads at the Ministry apparently haven't learnt anything from your little stunt four years ago. All the other security measures were put into place, yes. But the loophole with the Polyjuice remained. Kingsley was furious. Herondale was supposed to take care of it, apparently."

"I take it Herondale has lost his job now?" asked Ron grumpily.

"Yeah, he has," Ginny confirmed. "Kingsley said the position of the Head Auror is yours, if you want it."

Ron let out a loud, almost insane-sounding laugh, making Ginny and George look at each other in alarm. He stopped just as suddenly as he started.

"You alright, little brother?" asked George.

"Fine," bit out Ron. "It's Kingsley you need to worry about. He's obviously lost his marbles."

Seeing George and Ginny's questioning looks, Ron elaborated, "Me? Head Auror? Seriously? Was he drunk?"

"What?" asked Ginny, clearly worried. "No, Ron –"

"Brain damage? Confundus Charm? Imperious curse?" Ron continued.

"No! Ron –"

"Then there is no proper explanation as to why Kingsley would say anything so damn _stupid_!" Ron exploded. "I can't be the Head Auror! I'm not that good at it! Now, Harry on the other hand . . ." he trailed off as a new wave of sadness overwhelmed him. His tears resurfaced, making his vision blurry.

"You're a good Auror, you know," stated George.

"Whatever," Ron muttered. "I said I'm not going back, and that's my final decision."

"Well then, why don't you help me with the shop, eh?" George said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "I could always use an extra pair of hands. Plus, you know, it's therapy. It'll keep you busy. Keep your mind off . . . things. After all, they say ' _Laughter is the best medicine'._ "

"Laughter," Ron repeated numbly. "I don't know if I'll ever be cheerful enough to properly laugh again."

Ginny sat on the other side of Ron and gently embraced him, silently conveying her support. "Oh, you will. I know you will. And so will I. One day. You'll see."

At that moment, the door opened and an enormous ginger cat strolled into the room.

"Crooks?" asked Ron in disbelief. "How did you get here?"

Crookshanks gave him the best approximation of a glare that cats were capable of, and went on to settle himself on Ginny's lap.

"Forgot about him, didn't you, Ron?" said George. "I went and got him from your flat after . . . er, you know? Really smart cat. Right away knew there was something wrong."

"I'm sorry," said Ron to no one in particular. "I'm really sorry. I've been a right git, haven't I? I'm so sorry . . ." he kept on repeating those words as tears ran down his face.

"They wouldn't want this, Ron," said Ginny, her voice hitching, as she placed one hand on his arm. "They wouldn't want us to be upset. They'd want us to be strong."

Ron nodded, wiping the tears. "What would I do without the lot of you?" he croaked. "Thank you."

They didn't know exactly how long they all sat there, silently, sharing an embrace and their grief. But one thing, Ron realized, was for certain. Ginny was right: there was strength in unity.

* * *

 **A/N.** **Part of this chapter - the conversation between Kirk and his mother - was inspired by another story I read a while ago. Unfortunately, for the life of me, I can't remember the author or the name of the story any longer. I tried to find it - since I'd like to give credit to the author - but was unsuccessful. I've never been particularly good at remembering names. Unfortunately now, it's gotten even worse.**

 **I also wanted to mention that according to "The Autobiography of James T. Kirk" (yes, imagine that!), Winona's maiden name really was 'Davis', and Kirk's grandmother's name really was 'Brunhilde'. I did not make those up.**

 **As always, thank you for reading and for your feedback!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 15

From the observation deck of the _Enterprise,_ Harry and Hermione watched as they entered Earth's orbit. The blue and white matrix of sea and sky that was Earth's most striking feature when seen from space worked its unique magic on them, just as it had on thousands of visitors that had come since first contact had been made with other sentient species. The view was absolutely breathtaking, and for a moment, everything else seemed so insignificant that Harry and Hermione nearly forgot the predicament they were in.

Shortly after the _Enterprise_ was docked at Starbase 1, Harry and Hermione were called to the shuttle bay. Several shuttles were at the ready, waiting to take them and the Vulcan survivors to Earth. Pike had been able to arrange a path to Earth that would spare them harassment from the media. Unfortunately for the crew, no such prospect was forthcoming for them.

Harry and Hermione found themselves on shuttle number 4, named the _Einstein,_ along with Ambassador Sarek and Amanda _._ Through the view port they saw the _Enterprise_ 's shuttle bay doors open, and the pilot took the _Einstein_ out into open space. Accelerating steadily, the compact craft sped past Starbase 1 towards Earth, which stood out like a piece of engraved turquoise in an onyx setting.

The base itself was another astounding sight to behold. This city in space, unimaginatively named Starbase 1, was suspended weightlessly in the blackness; at its heart was a gigantic orb, surrounded by a bright array of enormous transverse arms that had docks and repair facilities at their ends. Only three docks were presently occupied – another reminder of the ships that should have been there, but were now forever lost along with their crews.

Resembling irregular snowflakes drifting in an absence of gravity, a storm of servicing crafts were already swarming around the neatly docked ships: the _U.S.S. Victorious_ – _Defiant_ class, the _U.S.S. Columbia_ – _Hermes_ class, and, of course, the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ – _Constitution_ class. Despite similar schematics, each vessel featured its own unique design characteristics. Looking at the _Enterprise_ now, Harry finally could begin to understand exactly what Scotty had meant when he called the ship 'a beauty.'

Black gave way to violet and then blue as the shuttle descended through the atmosphere. Hermione gripped Harry's hand hard and refused to look out the view port as they came closer and closer to San Francisco. Knowing his friend's fear of heights, Harry didn't say anything and merely offered her his other hand, which she accepted gratefully.

As soon as the shuttles were parked in a hangar designated for the Admiralty, Harry and Hermione were whisked off to Admiral Marcus's office. The man, true to his word to Pike, took good care of Harry and Hermione, providing them with necessary paperwork as well as protection from the media. The two were particularly grateful for the latter – having had plenty of bad experiences with the media as war heroes in their own universe, both were quite eager to avoid a similar sort of exposure.

At any rate, Marcus seemed nice. A little too nice. Giving them strict instructions to contact him if they needed anything at all, Marcus left to attend to other business. In this absence, his assistant gave Harry and Hermione a small tour of the surroundings and showed them their new apartment, which was located within a short hoverbus ride from the Starfleet Academy and Starfleet Headquarters.

To say that this world was surprising for Harry and Hermione would be an absolute understatement. It was downright mindboggling. And it wasn't necessarily because of skyscrapers that were twice the size of whatever they'd seen in the Muggle world before, or moving sidewalks, or hovercars and busses, or flying trams and shuttles. No. It was mostly because all of the different species they had encountered, walking around as though it was completely normal. And here, it was.

Harry and Hermione had to pinch themselves on multiple occasions to make sure that they weren't dreaming or dead.

The next few days after getting back to Earth were a blur for everyone, including the crew of the _Enterprise_. Their schedules were filled with debriefing sessions, more encounters with the media, and a memorial service. Ambassador Sarek led the portion of the service dedicated to the loss of Vulcan. The stereotype that Vulcans did not feel was just that – a stereotype. It was easy to detect the anguish, immense grief, and barely identifiable hitches in his voice as he spoke, and it filled everyone present with a torrent of profound, heart-wrenching loss.

When Sarek had finished, Captain Pike stepped up to the podium as the seniormost surviving officer of the massacred Home Fleet – not only by rank, but also by age. There was hardly a dry eye in evidence as Pike had finished his address.

In memory of the day when one of the Federation's founding species was nearly destroyed, it was decided that there would be a monument built in the shape of the Vulcan IDIC – _Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations_. The IDIC looked similar to a triangular pyramid and a circle, and was the basis of a Vulcan philosophy: that the glory of creation was infinite in diversity, that differences weren't something to be feared but welcomed, and that these differences could be combined to create something meaningful and worthwhile, something great. It seemed appropriate, not only as a symbol of the tragedy, but as a representation of the Federation itself.

But the memorial, though deeply impactful, inevitably finished. Life went on. It had to. There was much to do.

It was astonishing how quickly people could come back from imminent catastrophe and return to their daily routine. The orders given in a desperate attempt to save a planet were once again replaced by those of mundanity. At the Academy, classes so rudely and urgently interrupted by the crisis resumed. Personal matters left unfinished demanded the attention of those who had hastily departed.

The individual senior cadets who had been assembled to crew the _Enterprise_ were no exception. There was still coursework to be completed. Despite the fact that all the senior cadets – including Kirk, McCoy, Chekov, and Uhura – had been recognized as commissioned officers upon their return, Command still wanted to make sure that all the requirements were met before they all were officially unleashed on the galaxy. Even though Starfleet needed every person available, they could afford having fewer people better than they could afford incompetence.

And so the rigorous training resumed, leaving cadets barely any time to breathe, much less think about their futures. Having gone from students to saviors and back to students again in the span of days, they were granted certain leeways and dispensations – when one newly promoted officer was a little late completing an assignment, or another pleaded an appointment with a counselor as an excuse for missing a simulation, their circumstances were deemed 'acceptably extenuating.'

Spock resumed his duties as an instructor, dedicating his spare time to helping the Vulcan survivors in any way he could. He worked closely with his father – the ambassador to Earth – and these efforts seemed beneficial in resolving whatever bitterness might have remained between the two regarding Spock joining Starfleet. Spock had yet to announce whether he would be joining the new colony of Vulcans or staying with Starfleet, and no one seemed insensitive enough to broach the subject.

Sulu, who had graduated a year earlier, was asked to temporarily fill in the position of a flight instructor. The previous instructor had been killed on the _Antares_. Since the cadets only got their first taste of actual piloting after their first year at the Academy was over, Sulu spent majority of his time training second and third year cadets in outer space, at the Academy Training Station in Earth's orbit. From there he could also see the _Enterprise_ , which remained at the space dock, her berth a veritable beehive of activity. Sulu would sneak into their great grey lady every now and then, getting updates to share with his friends down on Earth to provide them with motivation.

Scotty spent a lot of his time expounding on the equations behind transwarp beaming, as well as the other so-called miracles he had performed during his temporary command over the _Enterprise_ 's engineering crew. His colleagues at the Academy were skeptical, but the math was solid and nothing short of amazing. He only wished that he could mention Harry and his magic as well, but he refrained. For now.

Pike also resumed his duties as an instructor – at least until the current senior cadets graduated. According to the rumours and gossip (the only things in the Fleet that traveled faster than warp ten), Pike was to be promoted to the rank of admiral. No one knew if he would accept the promotion, since admirals typically didn't fly. For now though, his ship was still under repairs. It was estimated that the _Enterprise_ would not be back to 100% before six months, after which she was scheduled to depart on a one-year shakedown cruise. Although no official orders would be released until after the graduation, everyone suspected that the _Enterprise_ would be crewed by the same officers who defeated Nero. The only question was who would be captaining it.

Upon returning to Earth, Pike had also spent a lot of time with Harry and Hermione, helping them to adjust to their new environment and providing fatherly support in whatever capacity he could. Amanda, as well as some others from the _Enterprise_ 's crew were equally helpful, letting their universe-displaced friends know that they were not alone.

Once things started calming down, Starfleet Command wanted to meet with Harry and Hermione in order to debrief them and get an idea on how to proceed further. However, it was first necessary to go to London – to get some answers, if there were indeed any to be found.

* * *

 ** _February 27th, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

"Hey guys!" greeted Kirk brightly as he approached Harry and Hermione waiting for him on the lawn in front of the Archer Building. "Everything okay with you two?"

"Fine, thanks," said Harry.

"Hello, James," said Hermione with a small smile.

"Hi," responded Kirk with a grin of his own, momentarily getting lost in her eyes.

Blinking away his short-lived stupor, he turned to Harry who was trying to fix his now non-existent glasses on the bridge of his nose. Shortly after their return to Earth, McCoy had taken Harry to Starfleet Medical to get his vision corrected, all the while grumbling something about the limitations of the Dark Ages.

"Hard to kick the habit?" Kirk asked.

Harry nodded. "I've been wearing glasses for as long as I can remember. It's kind of odd to be suddenly rid of them, but I really can't complain. I feel a lot more free without them," he said as Kirk led them to a hoverbus stop located not far from the Presidio – the site of the Starfleet Academy campus.

Several people, noticing Kirk, threw curious and admiring looks in his direction. It wasn't as though people around the campus hadn't noticed Jim before, but ever since the _Enterprise_ 's return the frequent glances had turned into fascinated stares.

"This creates flashbacks," said Hermione, remembering their own difficulties going into public without people staring, pointing a finger at them, asking for autographs and such.

"I hate this, you know that?" said Kirk grumpily. "Even before this – this whole thing with Nero, people approached me just because of my last name. Because I was this brilliant bad boy with the famous dead father. Because they wanted me to be this perfect hero. And now, thanks to the media, they think I _am_ a hero.

"Honestly, I thought I would like all this attention, but somehow I really don't. I'm not a hero. I'm just Jim, who happened to be at the right place and at the right time, and who had lots of help and sheer dumb luck. I couldn't have done any of it without my crew. I couldn't have done it without the two of you. And it pisses me off that nobody is giving you any credit for what you've done."

"We didn't want any credit, Jim. We helped because it was the right thing to do," said Harry as they arrived at the shelter and waited for the next hoverbus. "And it's just better this way. You know we're keeping our abilities from public knowledge."

Kirk opened his mouth to say something in protest, but Harry put a hand up to silence him. "Just trust me when I say that we understand what you're going through."

"Harry more so than I," added Hermione, giving her best friend a look.

Kirk exhaled deeply but didn't say anything, as at that moment a sleek, silver bus pulled up in front of them. Kirk stepped inside, and Harry and Hermione followed closely behind.

As they all took a seat, Harry said, "One day, when we sort out all this mess, I'll tell you my story, and you'll see just how many similarities there are between us, Jim. For now tell me, where are we going? Why all this secrecy?"

"We're going to San Francisco Botanical Garden."

"Botanical Garden?" repeated Hermione. She narrowed her eyes at Kirk and crossed her arms, sternly saying, "James, it's the middle of the week. Are you sure your lessons are done for today? We wouldn't want you to skive off classes, would we now, Harry?"

"Er, no. Not at all," Harry replied quickly.

"I won't be skiving off anything, _mom,_ " Kirk chuckled, rolling his eyes and remembering that his mother used the same tone of voice on occasion.

Hermione huffed in response, and he smiled and winked at her.

"My classes are really done for today. I only have a Xenolinguistics club meeting, which doesn't start for another thirty minutes. Don't worry, I'll make it back in time. I just wanted you guys to meet someone."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Someone who may have some idea as to how the two of you might get back where you came from," Kirk said neutrally, looking out the window at the scenery that swept by in a blur to hide the expression on his face.

With a pang, Jim realized that he was getting very attached to his new friends, which was not surprising given the circumstances of their encounter. And as much as Kirk didn't want them to leave, he could also empathize with what it was like to be in a world that was completely foreign. He'd tried to imagine himself being thrust into the Wizarding world two centuries ago, all alone, and the feeling that came with it wasn't a pleasant one.

Kirk had chosen San Francisco Botanical Garden because it was unlikely that anyone visiting it at this particular time would recognize Kirk or the person they were about to meet. The press had been restricted from the campus for the time being, but one could never be careful enough leaving the Academy safety zone. The aesthetics offered by the views of the location was an added bonus.

San Francisco Botanical Garden was something of a living museum of plants. It encompassed an area of fifty-five acres and featured both landscaped gardens and open spaces, showcasing thousands types of plants from all corners of Earth, as well as from other planets – at least, the ones that could adapt to Earth's gravity and climate and survive.

"I know that you guys are scheduled to leave for London later on today, but I don't think this will take too long," said Kirk, as the trio disembarked from the hoverbus and headed towards the North Gate.

Once there, they climbed onto the shuttle that transported people from one part of the Garden to another. Kirk was happy to note to himself that he made a good choice for their place of meeting, judging by the expression on Hermione's face.

"It's beautiful!" she exclaimed, examining her surroundings. "Neville would really love this place!"

At the mention of her absent friend, her smile slightly faltered, but she quickly composed herself. "Thank you, James. Even though I know that we didn't come here just to look at the plants, I'm still thankful that you brought us here."

"You're welcome," Kirk smiled in response. "Just wait till you see the magnolias. We might have to come back here at another time for that though. But they're in bloom right now, and the view is breathtaking."

"More breathtaking than seeing Earth from space?"

"Well, I – uh – I don't know about that. It's kinda subjective, isn't it? I think I could name at least one other thing that would be more breathtaking than the view of Earth from space," he finished flirtatiously.

However, Hermione was so immersed in admiring some exotic alien plants as the shuttle passed by them that she barely registered what he'd said – let alone how he said it.

Harry noticed though. "Er, not to interrupt anything," he said throwing Kirk a suspicious look and having every intention of interrupting him, "but I'm assuming you know exactly where we're going?"

"Yep. Right there," said Kirk as the shuttle came to a stop and the trio disembarked.

Harry and Hermione turned to look where Kirk was indicating and saw an elderly man – no, a Vulcan – standing under an enormous oak tree and staring out at the pond.

As soon as the trio reached the Vulcan, Kirk said, "Ambassador, this is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Harry, Hermione, I want you to meet –"

"Your eyes . . . They're human. And familiar," said Hermione, analyzing the man before her as her eyes grew wide with surprise. "You aren't Spock, are you?"

"Indeed, I am," confirmed Spock Prime, inclining his head. "You are very observant, Ms. Granger."

"Wow," said Kirk, dumbfounded. "When I saw him first, I would have never guessed, if he hadn't told me."

"You have Amanda's eyes," she addressed the elderly Vulcan. "I recognized them."

"Holy mother of Merlin, you really are Spock," breathed Harry.

"More than that, he's the mysterious person whom I met on Delta Vega. I told you a bit about him," said Kirk. "And now that you've met, I'll leave you to it. I – uh – have that club meeting and – I shouldn't be here anyway. Might hear something that might change my destiny," he finished with a smirk. "I'll see you all soon."

With that, Kirk turned to walk back towards the shuttle stop.

"You know that you can never let him see you, right?" said Hermione as the three of them started slowly walking towards the section of the Garden labelled 'California Native Garden.'

"I presume you refer to my younger self, Ms. Granger," deduced Spock.

"Yes."

"May I inquire as to why you think so?"

"It's because – well, the rules! In our world I was taught that people who meddled with time or saw their past selves – loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake, or have gone insane, or –"

"Hermione, relax," urged Harry. "I'm confident that nothing of the sort will happen here even if Ambassador Spock were to meet – er – younger Spock. We're not in our world anymore and we're not dealing with magic. It might be different for Muggles."

"But Harry, the rules –"

"Can be broken sometimes," Harry interrupted, putting one hand on Hermione's shoulder in an attempt to try to calm her down.

He turned to Spock, "Besides, if my assumptions are correct, your presence here has something to do with Nero. And as we know, he may or may not have been from the future. He could have been from a parallel universe, just like us. And if that is the case, the rules of time travel definitely won't apply."

"Fascinating," commented Spock.

"What is?" Harry asked.

"How much has James told you about us?" Hermione added.

"Only that you had magical abilities and were from the past, which is why I find the declaration of you being from a parallel universe to be fascinating. He also asked that I make an exception for you."

"Exception, sir?" Harry asked.

"When Jim and I first met on Delta Vega, I promised that I would not give him any information that could potentially alter his destiny. He argued that since the two of you did not exist in my timeline, I would not be able to give you any information regarding your future selves, and therefore, I would not be altering your destiny."

"Makes sense," agreed Hermione. "But, are you really sure that you're from the future and not from a parallel universe, like us?"

"Of that I am certain, Ms. Granger," said Spock, and then elaborated. "I presume that you have heard of the Vulcan mind-meld?"

At receiving an affirmative nod from Harry and Hermione, he continued, "During this experience, a permanent connection is created between the two people sharing the meld. From moment to moment, I am only vaguely aware of these connections. But one thing that I am always certain of is when a connection is lost. Such a loss only occurs when the individual I have melded with dies. Over the years, I have experienced this many times. It is akin to a building at night with its windows lit – and then one light goes out. I always know whose light it is, and I feel when they are gone."

"And those lights, they've returned, haven't they?" deduced Hermione.

Spock confirmed her statement with a nod.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand," interjected Harry. "How can you feel people with whom you technically haven't melded yet?"

"That is because I _have_ melded with them. In my past – their future. By reappearing here, in this time, the connection has been rekindled. Since the circumstance that I find myself in is rather unique, all I can do is theorize. I postulate that the connection made during the meld is made not so much with the mind, but, perhaps, with the being as a whole. As all matter in the universe has its own unique quantum signature, so does each individual have their own cadence, so to speak; these 'cadences' are what I am bound to – much like in the antahkarana web of life that is spoken of in the Eastern philosophies of Earth. That I have retained my connections to those I once melded with tells me that I am indeed in a different time, rather than a different universe."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Have you ever had any dealings with parallel universes?"

"I have. However, each encounter with such universes I had was different. Therefore, to help you, I would need more information on how you came to be here."

Harry and Hermione took turns retelling Spock how they found themselves on the Bridge of the _Enterprise_. Spock listened to everything with unreadable expression.

"Fascinating," was all he said after. "I have never heard of such a means of accessing a parallel universe before. If I may theorize as to how you have managed it?"

"Please, do," said Harry.

"I would hypothesize that the spell that your enemy cast and the one that you, Mr. Potter, used to defend yourselves, when connected, created an energy field. When this energy field came into contact with the Veil, it created a momentary interdimensional contact with a parallel universe. However, for a proper passage to be formed and for the barriers between dimensions to be broken, there must have been something else. I believe this additional factor might have been the warp engines engaging at the precise moment when the two of you fell through the Veil. From my experience, warp fields had been known to assist in temporarily breaking down the barriers between dimensions."

"Then we were extremely fortunate that the _Enterprise_ was jumping into warp just as we were falling through the Veil," concluded Hermione. "If that hadn't happened, we would've likely been dead."

"Do you think that these barriers between dimensions have sealed by now?" Harry asked Spock.

"Yes. Of that I am certain – for the connection to remain, the energy fields on both sides of it would have needed to be sustained."

"Is it possible to break these barriers again?" inquired Hermione.

"Theoretically. However, without recreating the exact same conditions, I doubt it would be possible to access your Prime universe. You might be able to create a link to _a_ universe, but it is unlikely that it would be your own."

"But what if there were a sort of a 'magnet' – for the lack of a better word – that would 'attract', so to speak, our Prime universe to us?"

"Then I believe it might work. However, I would calculate the statistical likelihood of that to be at –"

"No, please, don't," Hermione gently interrupted. "I'd rather not know."

"Hermione, do you have a plan or something?"

"No, Harry, I don't. I'm just playing around with some ideas in my head, trying to connect all the pieces of a puzzle. However, it's difficult when the majority of the pieces are missing."

"It is possible that the puzzle will never be assembled," noted Spock.

"Possibly," agreed Hermione. "But we can't lose hope. We can't give up. Not yet."

"And what about this black hole/wormhole theory then? That's how you and Nero got here, right?"

"That is correct, Mr. Potter. However, I think our survival of the singularity had everything to do with technology on Nero's ship. For the _Narada_ that I knew at one time, before it had been changed, would not have been capable of surviving intact."

"What do you mean when you say that it was changed?" asked Hermione.

"The _Narada_ was once different from the ship you know – just as Nero was not always as he appeared before you."

"Oh?" said Harry skeptically, having a hard time imagining a nice Nero.

"No one is born evil, Harry," reminded Hermione. "And we've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. Nero must have chosen the dark."

Spock nodded solemnly. "And I am afraid that much of that decision rests on my shoulders."

"How can someone else's choices be your fault?" queried Hermione.

Spock was silent for a few moments, considering what to say and what not to say.

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, you must promise me that what I say to you now will remain confidential."

"You have our word," Harry assured him.

Spock didn't know exactly why he had decided to tell them this. Perhaps it was a sense of kinship shared between people who didn't belong in this world, this time. Perhaps it was the fact that he would never be able to tell this to anyone else, and part of him – the illogical, human part – desperately wanted someone to know the truth. When he had melded with Kirk on Delta Vega, he had shown him only the bare minimum, only what was necessary to convince the young man that he was telling the truth.

Or perhaps Spock's immense grief was just clouding his judgement.

Whatever the reason, Spock began, "Romulus had been my home for the last twenty years. When I first went there, I was with the underground reunification movement – hiding in tunnels, working in shadows."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but reunification?" asked Harry.

"The reunification of our peoples," replied Spock.

"From what I've read," Hermione cut in, "Vulcans were once an extremely violent and emotional people who waged almost constant warfare on one another. When they reached a point where their violent nature threatened the extinction of their own species, a Vulcan named Surak developed a new philosophy, thereby igniting the Time of Awakening. Surak thought that the root cause of all the problems on Vulcan lay in the uncontrolled outpouring of the people's emotions and urged his followers to embrace logic. Emotions were to be controlled and repressed. This new philosophy spread rapidly across Vulcan and was accepted by the majority. However, there were those who rejected it. These people left Vulcan and founded colonies elsewhere – most notably on the planet Romulus," she explained. "Ambassador, I'm assuming that you were attempting to unify Vulcans and Romulans again?"

"Impressive, Ms. Granger. For someone who has only recently arrived in this world, you seem to possess a commendable amount of knowledge."

"Thank you, Ambassador," she responded, blushing slightly. "Harry and I spend a lot of our time trying to acquaint ourselves with this world. Please, continue. Were you successful in your reunification efforts?"

"To a degree. It was very difficult initially, but slowly I saw those few Romulans who were open to outside ideas grow into many. Romulan society went through several years of transformation. Curiosity, tolerance, and diplomacy ceased to be strange and forbidden words in the Empire. After years of covert resistance, immigration laws were passed and I was allowed to live legally on Romulus. I could finally assume the role of Ambassador and work for peace without fear of reprisal. But my work had only just begun.

"While on Romulus, I studied the Hobus star and determined that it was dying and would soon go supernova. Such a supernova would pose an unprecedented threat to a large portion of the Alpha quadrant. I went before the Romulan Senate with the results of my study, urged them to verify my findings, and proposed a solution. They did not believe me. Nero, who then represented the Miner's Guild, confirmed my hypothesis was not improbable. He informed the Council that he had been mining in the Hobus system with his crew when they witnessed the first eruption. The Council, however, disregarded his statement as well, in favor of further investigation."

"After all those years you spent on Romulus working for peace, they still didn't trust you? Bureaucratic fools," huffed Hermione, scandalized and offended on Spock's behalf.

"Nero expressed a similar sentiment. He came to find me later that day and offered me his services, his ship, and his crew, so that we could mine the decalithium necessary for the creation of the Red Matter. Nero was once a good man, devoted to his wife, and very loyal to the Empire. By helping me, he risked being sentenced to a life on a prison planet if he were to get caught."

"What changed?" asked Harry. "How did he become the insane person that we met?"

"Only Vulcans had the technology necessary to create the Red Matter using the decalithium. However, the Vulcan High Council refused to share this technology with the Romulans. Even the threat of mutual destruction was not enough to ensure their cooperation. Needless to say, Nero was outraged. I convinced him to leave the decalithium with me and told him that I would do everything I must to see the plan through. Nero agreed, but before he left, he warned me that if Romulus died, he would hold my people responsible. He would hold me responsible."

Spock paused for a moment, closing his eyes in grief. "He arrived at Romulus, only to see it destroyed."

"And then he lost it," guessed Harry.

"Yes. He witnessed his planet die – and with it, his wife and child. The incalculable pain drove him into insanity. The Nero I knew, the Nero that helped me, died that day along with Romulus. He destroyed the Federation ships that arrived too late to help with the evacuation, and he killed the members of the Romulan High Council. I surmise that he was able to get the coordinates of the top-secret Romulan military facility before he killed them. It was at this military facility that he found the technology that turned the _Narada_ into what you saw."

"Do you know what kind of technology it was?" asked Hermione.

"I do. It belonged to the greatest enemy the Federation ever faced. I shall not expound on the specifics, but they were a threat unlike any we had ever seen."

"And you defeated them, I take it?" asked Harry.

"At a great cost, yes. The enemy was highly adaptable. It changed depending on the challenge it faced."

"And the _Narada_ , if it had the same technology, it could adapt similarly?" deduced Hermione.

"Yes."

"So, it possessed a sort of sentience?"

"In a way, it did. I suspect that is what allowed it to survive the singularity. I do not know precisely how, as no one but the Romulans had the temerity to experiment with this technology; but something in the _Narada_ must have made it capable of travelling through space-time via manipulating the black hole into a wormhole."

They reached a lookout point from where they could see hundreds of rhododendrons just starting to bloom. While Harry and Hermione took in the scenery, Spock closed his eyes, and a series of memories flashed in the back of his mind – of his mining expedition with Nero and his crew at the Kimben system; of being attacked by Remans while mining for decalithium and being rescued by the _Enterprise_ and her crew under the command of Captain Data; of going to Vulcan and meeting Ambassador Picard to work with him and plead their case with Nero before the Vulcan High Council and then, after their refusal, putting a plan together to save the quadrant; of Commander La Forge arriving on Vulcan to perform the modifications to the ship he designed – the _Jellyfish_ – that were needed to accommodate the transportation of the Red Matter; of climbing aboard the _Jellyfish_ to neutralize the supernova, in what he thought would be his final journey.

The _Jellyfish_ was not only the newest and the fastest, but also the _only_ ship suitable for the mission they had undertaken. It was designed to withstand forces that would tear most ships apart, but a black hole surpassed even that threshold. Spock knew that he would be the most suitable candidate to complete the mission and had been able to convince Geordi – who had initially volunteered for the task – of that. It was only logical that Spock would be the one put into this danger. After all, Spock was the one who had first warned of the danger from the Hobus star. He was the one who had convinced Nero to try and help him stop it. And it was he who had failed to predict when the star would go nova.

He was there in the beginning, and he had to be there at the end.

What he hadn't expected, however, was to survive and be thrown back 129 years only to witness the destruction of his home world and his species . . .

"It's not your fault, you know. What happened with that supernova and Nero," said Harry, noticing Spock's expression. "You did everything you could. There were things beyond your control."

Spock didn't say anything in response, and merely continued looking straight ahead with a now unreadable expression.

 _If only Harry would listen to his own words and stop blaming himself for everything that_ _isn't his fault_ , thought Hermione.

She remembered the dejected expression on her friend's face when she and Ron had found him on the bridge, after the Dumbledore's Army was discovered by Umbridge.

 _"I tried so hard to help, and all it's done is made things worse,_ " said Harry. " _The more you care, the more you have to lose._ "

Perhaps, that was true. However, it was also true that the more you cared, the harder you fought for that which you believed was worth it . . .

"May I ask you something?" inquired Hermione, as the trio started to head back. Spock nodded in the affirmative. "In all the reading that I've done so far – I haven't found anything about the markings that Nero and other Romulans on his ship had on their faces and heads. Did they mean something?"

"Yes. There was a tradition on Romulus to paint ancient symbols of love and loss onto one's skin after a loved one died. In time, the paint would wear off, and with it the period of mourning would end. Life would go on. However, Nero and his crew burned the symbols of their grief deep into their skin, so that they would never fade. In a way, they died with their families. With Romulus. All that remained was hatred and revenge."

"I don't think I understand that kind of reasoning," said Harry.

"It's probably best that we never do, Harry," said Hermione.

"I apologize that I was unable to help you," said Spock. "However, I am grateful for having met you."

"Thank you, Ambassador," offered Harry. "We're equally grateful for this opportunity."

"And you did help us," corrected Hermione, "by offering your hypothesis on exactly how and why we got here, and by ruling out the black hole theory. Your information will be helpful as we research further."

"Well, it looks like our time is up," said Harry, noticing Pike and Kirk in the distance heading towards the three of them.

"If I may give you a piece of advice before we part ways," said Spock.

After he received a nod from Harry and Hermione, he continued, "Time is a subject with which I have been forced to become more conversant than I ever thought possible. As much as it is admirable to find hope even in the most hopeless of circumstances, it is also important to know when to stop wasting precious time and put an end to what humans call 'a wild goose chase.' I can sense a great deal of potential in both of you and trust that wherever you are – in our universe or yours – you will make it a better place for everyone. I would advise you to use your time wisely.

"Furthermore, you may yet find a way back by pure circumstance, rather than through deliberate searching. Sometimes things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect."

Harry froze. Luna had said something similar to him once. He stared at the Ambassador in befuddlement for a moment, half expecting him to start talking about Nargles or Wrackspurts or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks or something similarly outrageous.

When nothing of the sort was forthcoming, Harry simply said, "Thank you, Ambassador Spock. We'll keep that in mind."

"Ambassador Spock," greeted Pike as he and Kirk approached the trio.

"Captain Pike," answered Spock, inclining his head.

"Harry, Hermione, are you ready to head out to London?" asked Pike.

"Yes, sir," answered Harry.

"Then we should probably get to Hangar 1 before Alex decides to send out a search party for us," Pike smiled.

Hermione then turned to Spock, lifted up her right hand and spread her fingers into the _ta'al_. Harry and Pike followed her example.

"Thank you again, Ambassador, for your time and efforts," she said sincerely. "Live long and prosper."

Spock returned the gesture with, "Peace and long life."

"You've been doing your research," noted Kirk with a smile to Hermione. She simply smiled back.

"Research is all she's been doing lately," chuckled Harry. "Let's do this, shall we?" he said, holding out his right hand to Hermione. "Together?"

"Together," she responded, grasping his hand with her own, and the trio headed towards the shuttle stop.

Kirk stared after them for a few moments before turning to Spock and saying, "Thanks for coming and agreeing to meet with my friends."

"You are welcome, Jim. They are remarkable people."

"Yeah, they are," agreed Jim. "Were you able to help them?"

"I do not believe so. At least, not in the capacity that they required."

Kirk let go of the breath he didn't know he was holding and nearly sighed with relief, which was immediately replaced by guilt. What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't quite comprehend all the feelings he'd been experiencing in the span of recent two weeks. Was he slowly going crazy? Is this what grief did to people? Maybe the human mind simply wasn't built to fully grasp the immensity of the loss that they'd all experienced and still function properly. Maybe he should take Pike's advice and go see a counselor.

"You appear to not wish them to leave," noted Spock, throwing him an analyzing glance as they took a seat on one of the benches by the pond.

"I, uh, I don't know. I have mixed feelings about that. It's complicated."

"I understand," Spock said simply.

Did he, really? How could he possibly understand something that Jim himself didn't quite comprehend? But then again, this Spock had so many more years of experience, so much more wisdom . . .

For a few moments, the two gazed out at the pond and the swans that swam gracefully from one end to the other, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I think he's going to leave, you know?" said Jim suddenly.

"You refer to Spock," the older Vulcan deduced immediately.

"Yeah. Probably out of some complicated sense of duty. Or guilt. Or shame. Or all the above, I don't know."

Jim realized that, despite their initial confrontations, he couldn't help but feel warm sense of friendship and respect for the younger Spock. Kirk wondered if he was being influenced by the mind-meld he'd shared with the older Spock and by the way the older Vulcan felt for his Jim Kirk, or if the younger Spock really was just that great of a guy. In the interest of sanity, Jim decided to come down on the side of greatness – at least, until that assertion was proven wrong somehow.

"It was fun though, working with him."

"As I recall it, your definition of 'fun' did not always coincide with mine," said Spock, corners of his mouth twitching slightly in amusement.

"Guilty as charged," Jim smirked. "What I don't get, though, is why Spock chose Starfleet when he was also accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Um, I accidentally overheard him talking with his father one day," replied Kirk vaguely, before realizing something in a flash, expression shifting with the calculation. "Wait – that happened to you too, didn't it? You also got into the Science Academy but chose Starfleet, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why Starfleet? I thought that Vulcan Science Academy would be viewed as a more prestigious placement."

"I cannot speak for the Spock of this timeline, but there were several reasons why I decided that Starfleet was the logical choice."

He paused, reflecting upon something.

"Although, if I were being entirely truthful – my choice was more influenced by a personal reason than by any logic."

"What personal reason could . . ." Kirk stopped, understanding dawning on him. "Oh. Your mother."

"Many of those in positions of authority viewed my human genetics as a disadvantage."

"So, you basically refused because they insulted your mother," Kirk determined swiftly. "Nice. Good for you. But isn't your Vulcan philosophy – _Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations_ – supposed to celebrate, well, diversity? Are you saying that there are a bunch of hypocrites in the Vulcan High Council?"

"Indeed," responded Spock, eyes twinkling with a smile.

Kirk chuckled. "You two are stubborn, huh?"

"A characteristic you always viewed as a virtue," Spock commented neutrally.

"Then it's going to be difficult to change his mind," Jim surmised. "How do I get him to reconsider?"

"I would advocate simply speaking with him."

"Speaking?" Jim scoffed. "Somehow, I don't think that a talk with me is going to be that persuasive."

"I believe that he respects your opinion more than you think. It was you who vouched for his return to the Bridge during the proverbial eleventh hour, and trusted him to work with you as an equal despite the events that took place beforehand. And regardless of his earlier actions, you bore him no ill-will in the aftermath. It was also because of you that he realized that emotions cannot be simply suppressed without consequence."

"No, not just me. He told me that Hermione helped with that as well."

"Did she?" Spock raised an eyebrow slightly.

Kirk nodded. "She seems to have a knack for understanding what a person is feeling and telling them exactly what they need to hear. I told her that with a bit of training she'd make a great counselor. I don't think she took me seriously."

"That choice is yet before her."

"Do you really think Spock will listen to me?" asked Jim skeptically.

"What alternative would you propose?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "I've already apologized for my behavior on the _Enterprise_. He seemed to understand why I did what I did, and accepted my apology. He even suggested that we play three-dimensional chess sometime. Said that I would be 'a commendable opponent.'" He smiled at the memory. "I also told him that, given the circumstances, his conduct was admirable and that I would gladly serve with him again. It's just – I still have this _feeling_ that he'll leave."

"Even so, I still stand by my initial assessment," intoned Spock.

"Noted. I'll give it a shot."

Jim leaned his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his face with one hand.

"Something else is troubling you," asserted Spock.

When Kirk gave him a startled look, Spock explained, "One of the effects of my people's ability to mind-meld is a permanent connection between the mind of the Vulcan initiating the meld and that of the subject. Our mental disciplines keep these connections compartmentalized and away from our daily processes, so that we are only vaguely aware of them. However, when I attempt to focus on a specific person I have melded with or when said person is undergoing a strong emotional upheaval, I am able to feel them. I can sense your emotional state right now, which no doubt is aided by our physical proximity. There is a great deal of confusion in you."

"I don't suppose you could have told me any of this before we did the mind-meld, could you?" Kirk muttered uncomfortably.

As Spock opened his mouth to explain to him that even without their mind-meld on Delta Vega, the connection would have still existed due to time travel reasons, Jim continued, raking his fingers through his hair, "It's – it's fine. As long as you can't read my mind. I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself. You're right though. I'm confused. I just – it's probably nothing. And everything. Probably pretty normal after the recent events, huh?"

"It is a possibility," agreed Spock and didn't say anything more.

Part of him wanted to reveal certain things to Jim about his future, to help him avoid certain mistakes, to save him from certain pain. For example, the prospect of Kirk falling in love with another Edith Keeler certainly was not one Spock wanted to see repeated, if it could be helped. But events had already been altered, and it was impossible to predict just how much – if any – of his past, their future, would or would not come to be. Moreover, Spock had made a vow to himself to never reveal anything that could potentially alter Jim's destiny.

" _Your path is yours to walk and yours alone,"_ he had told him on Delta Vega. And Spock would honour that vow.

"Listen, can I ask another favour of you?" asked Jim after a brief contemplative silence.

Spock merely nodded in response.

"I was wondering if you could help me locate something."

An odd question, given that Kirk probably was more familiar with everything in this timeline and could easily find whatever he was looking for on his own. However, knowing the James Kirk of his timeline, Spock guessed there must be a good reason for this request.

"I am listening, Jim."


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 16

 ** _March 3, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

"It was faint, but I swear that the signal I picked up in the Long-Range Sensor Lab today wasn't naturally occurring," Nyota said to Spock.

The two of them were meeting for dinner in one of the restaurants that was not very popular with the Academy cadets – and therefore offered more privacy.

"If I contacted Columbia Hills, do you think they'd grant me access to their antenna array? Mars has far less distortion."

"Nyota, over the last year I have found our time together deeply fulfilling," said Spock in an even tone, seemingly having missed what Uhura had said. It was hard, but he had to do this. "Unfortunately, our relationship does not exist within a vacuum. It is unusual given our roles as instructor and cadet . . ."

"I know, Spock. I don't want you getting in any trouble trying to help me," continued Nyota with a thoughtful expression on her face as she stared out the window into the night, not registering Spock's message or the look in his eyes. "It's just – if I knew a little more, I'm sure I could trace this signal back to its source."

"If we also take into consideration recent events, I believe that the best option at the moment is to temporarily suspend our interaction."

He nearly flinched as he said it, immediately looking down to hide his eyes. He knew Nyota was rather perceptive – at least, in regards to him – and could easily read the look in his eyes: all the shame, guilt, confusion, anger, grief.

" _I will be back,_ " he had told Nyota on the transporter pad of the _Enterprise_ , right before he, Kirk, and Hermione beamed to the _Narada_. He had been lying, knowing that there was a good chance he wouldn't return. He felt ashamed and angry with himself for it, for little could justify a lie. Even if it was the kind of lie that his mother told him when he was a child – that he would make friends at his new school, that his teachers were race-blind, that some people were bigots but most were not; the type of lies that were offered when justice was not possible, when comfort was the best he could hope for.

He questioned himself why he couldn't simply tell her that he had decided to leave Starfleet, why he was lying to her about a 'temporary suspension' of their relationship. The answer, however, would not come to him. Instead, he felt a wave of fury at the entire situation; this was not the future he had planned, this was not what he had wanted to choose.

" _You are fully capable of choosing your own destiny._ _The question you are faced with is which path you will take. That is something only you can decide_ _,"_ his father had told him when he was a child.

At the time, Spock had believed him. Only later did Spock realize that this hypothetical choice had been a sham – that his father had always expected him to be fully Vulcan.

Spock had to remind himself, however, that no one's plans were immune to vagaries of life. Change could be instigated by calamity just as easily as it could be shaped through planned occurrence. Harry and Hermione's example was an excellent proof of that . . .

It was a myth that Vulcans could not lie – they _could_ and they _did_ lie. But not without a reason and not without paying an emotional price . . .

Nyota's expression turned from pensive to hurt as his words fully registered with her. She gave him a look so penetrating that he felt it and was forced to look up.

"Wait. Are you breaking up with me?"

"Regardless of positives, our disproportionate status within Starfleet Academy and the secrecy with which we communicate both present the illusion of impropriety."

No, this was not what he wanted to say. Why couldn't he properly articulate exactly what he wanted to say? It seemed that the demons tormenting his soul – the ones that he had thought were held tightly in check – were resurfacing in unexpected ways.

"Spock, we aren't doing anything wrong," defended Nyota. "You're not on faculty. You taught me one class – when you were a grad student – and we didn't even start seeing each other until it was over. Besides, after what happened in the transporter room, I think everyone knows about us. It's not a secret anymore."

She gave him an analyzing look.

"Spock, what's this really about? What aren't you telling me?"

The waiter arrived with their order, but both Spock and Nyota barely paid attention to the food.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts and carefully choose his words, Spock replied, "In the light of Vulcan's demise, I feel that I owe a debt of duty to my species."

There. He had finally been able to get it out – the real reason behind the 'suspension of their interaction', as he put it.

"I feel that my time will be required elsewhere."

And Spock told her everything, his face anguished – that the Vulcan Elders had asked him to join the colony, that he had agreed and intended to join his parents to help settle New Vulcan.

Nyota listened carefully, realizing that this decision would change everything, and that he had made it without saying a word to her. She couldn't decide whether she felt more surprised or betrayed. Part of her desperately wanted to pretend this was untrue, to convince him to stay, to make him keep the promise he had made when he thought he might die – " _I will be back._ "

"You're leaving Starfleet?"

Even saying those words aloud didn't make them real in her mind – and although they were sitting opposite each other, hands on table almost touching, she suddenly felt light-years away from him.

"You're leaving for good, aren't you? This isn't some _temporary_ thing, is it?"

"Nyota –"

"Spock, you lied to me," she said, her words cutting deeper than a blade.

"Nyota –" Spock said and made to stand up.

"You don't want to go." Her voice cracked. "I can see it. You don't want to go. Then why –"

"Nyota –"

She swallowed hard and blinked back tears.

"Okay."

She knew that Spock was stubborn, and if he had made up his mind on something, it was useless to try and persuade him otherwise. Neither did she want to. Though she wanted him to stay, this was bigger than her, bigger than either of them . . .

Sometimes loving someone meant letting them go . . .

"When are you leaving?" she asked quietly.

"I have received a word today that a suitable planet on which to establish a Vulcan colony has been located. Transport for all Vulcan survivors has been arranged for the end of next week."

"So soon."

"We cannot waste any time in reestablishing our culture and way of life," he said simply, no emotion detectable outwardly.

Inwardly, however, a million and one thoughts raced through his head: his apartment needed to be packed and cleaned, the utilities terminated, his office cleared . . . An inner battle took place at the same time, his emotions, desires, and regrets fighting with his logic. There was so much that he wanted to say to her, but all of it was highly illogical, to say the least.

Before he could say anything more, Nyota spoke up, her voice shaky and eyes cast down to prevent him from seeing her failed attempts at holding her tears at bay.

"I wish you the best in all of your endeavors, Spock."

An unexpected spasm shot through his side and he automatically pressed his fingers there, his heart clenching painfully. He couldn't bear to be the cause of her unhappiness, but he could find no logical path for him to take which would allow him to avoid it.

 _The needs of the many outweigh the needs and the desires of the few_ , he reminded himself not for the first time.

"Nyota, I . . ." he started as he stood up, searching for the right words. "I thank you and wish you the same. I hope our interactions in the future will remain cordial. Good night."

He gave her one last curt nod and walked away swiftly, leaving her alone.

Nyota didn't know how long she picked at her food that was already cold, her appetite completely lost, until a Caitian female passed by her table, screaming into her communicator, "MADDIE, YOU WERE RIGHT! HE'S JUST A LYING, MYSOGYNISTIC NARCISSIST WITH DREAMY BLUE EYES! FROM NOW ON, I'M DONE WITH HUMANS!"

Uhura then heard a familiar voice, addressed to this Caitian.

"C'mon, Selia, come back!" called Kirk after the female whose name must have been Selia. "I wasn't flirting with our waitress! That's just how I talk. Ask anybody. Ask . . ." he looked around, trying to see if he could locate someone familiar and spotted Uhura. "Ask Uhura! She's . . . actually a terrible example. Don't ask Uhura."

Selia disappeared through the glass doors and Kirk decided against following her further. Instead, he waved a dismissive hand in her direction, before sighing deeply and plopping himself down on the seat across from Uhura – the seat that had only recently been vacated by Spock. Several people threw curious glances at Kirk, exchanging whispered conversations. Jim resisted the urge to send a rude gesture their way, and settled for ignoring them.

"That seat's taken," said Nyota flatly, briefly looking up from her plate.

"From the look on your face, I'm guessing it _was_ taken," said Kirk. "I guess you're also having the same kinda night."

"Heard the end of your little melodrama back there. I think you put that poor girl off our entire species."

"Eh. She's probably better off with a Klingon anyway," he shrugged. "More her personality type."

The women Jim had met in the last several days in an attempt to distract himself were beautiful and interesting – at first. But at some point during that first conversation, he would catch a whiff of that off-putting hero-worship or notice his own attention starting to wander. He was looking for something – not exactly knowing what, but knowing that those women didn't have it.

"And better looking," Uhura shot back, without missing a beat.

"Wait, are you mad at me? Is this about the whole 'provoking Spock on the Bridge' thing? I apologized for that, and he accepted my apology, by the way."

Something flashed across Uhura's features, but it was gone before Jim could identify it. Nyota crossed her arms and looked at Kirk with an unimpressed look on her face.

"No?" continued Kirk. "Okay, what is it then? You can't still be mad about the whole 'bar fight' thing a while back, can you? I apologized for that too."

"No, you didn't," she pointed out.

"Well, I meant to. In fact, I'm going to do it right now. I'm sorry, Uhura. I really am," he said sincerely.

There was no trace of sarcasm or pretentiousness. He truly meant what he had said.

"I acted like a jackass and I know there is no excuse for that type of behavior, but I hope that you can find it in you to forgive me."

"Well, Kirk, I can't believe I'm hearing this. I must be dreaming."

She dramatically pinched her forearm at this.

"Let me make it up to you," he suggested. "I know a great little dive bar right down the street. Decent music. Perfect ice cubes. Plenty to take your mind off Mr. Empty Chair here, who I'm guessing is none other than Mr. Pointy Ears." Before she could snap at him for sticking his nose into her business, he hurried to add, "But none of that concerns me, so never mind that. And I also need to take my mind off – things," he said vaguely. "I promise – no funny business. We'll go just as friends, okay?"

"Friends, huh? Are you even capable of being friends with any female without wanting to screw the daylights out of them?"

"You wound me, Uhura," he dramatically put one hand over his chest, before his face turned serious. "I do have other interests outside of getting laid, you know."

Nyota snorted. "If you say so."

She waved the waiter over to request the bill, but was informed that the meal had already been paid for. Uhura thanked the waiter and stood up.

"So, you're coming with me then?" Kirk asked hopefully, following her.

"Sorry, Kirk, but I've already got a date with Mr. Long-Range Sensor Lab," she said as she put on her coat.

"Sounds like a fun guy," he muttered. "Look, fine, let me just walk you back to the dorm then."

Nyota sighed but said nothing. Kirk took that as a 'yes' and fell into step beside her. The night was chilly, cloudy and without stars. Thick fog was rolling in off the sea. A bubble of quiet seemed to surround them, interrupted only by the sound of Nyota's heels clicking along the sidewalk.

"So, tell me," Kirk said, being the first to break the silence. "Have you heard anything from Hermione yet? You two seemed to be getting along quite well. I was just wondering if she might have called you or sent a message or something. It's been a week and I haven't heard anything. I've tried contacting them, but their communicators seem to be turned off. I'm – uh – sort of worried."

"Five days, Kirk. They've been gone for five days. Not exactly a week yet," Nyota corrected him, realizing with a start that Spock's compulsion for accuracy must have rubbed off on her. "I haven't heard from them, but I don't think you have anything to worry about. They're probably just very busy. Besides, Pike wouldn't let anything happen to them."

"Of course, you're right," nodded Kirk, sounding not entirely convinced.

Nyota observed the man next to her. He seemed genuinely concerned for the two interdimensional travelers. It left Uhura slightly baffled, because she only knew Kirk as a self-centered individual who didn't really care much for anyone. But then again, taking into consideration the recent events . . .

"You seem awfully concerned about them," she noted.

"You're kidding, right? Look at all they've done for us! Besides, I know what it's like to feel lost and lonely, even when surrounded by a lot of people," he said quietly. Then he added resolutely, "They've lost their world, and if they can't get it back, it's up to us to help them build a new one."

"And Hermione?" asked Uhura, throwing him a suspicious glance.

"What about her?"

"Well, I just wanted to remind you that she _is_ engaged . . ."

"Oh, wow. You have a _very_ low opinion of me, don't you?" Kirk said defensively, insulted by her intimation.

"I –" Nyota started, feeling uncomfortable.

"Look, she was there for me when I needed it the most," Kirk cut her off. "I intend to do the same for her. That's all. I respect her and don't plan on taking advantage of her emotional state or whatever, if that's what you're insinuating," he finished tersely, his jaw flexing with frustration.

Nyota flushed in embarrassment and stumbled in surprise – this was so unlike the Kirk she'd known for three years.

His hand shot out to steady her, and she said, "I – I'm sorry. I'm not quite myself tonight."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he remarked dryly. "And I'm not the only one who wants to help them. You've been rather helpful too. Should I start accusing you of being interested in Potter and reminding you that he's also engaged?"

"How dare you –!"

"Relax," responded Kirk, raising a placating hand, "I was just trying to point out that your assumptions are ridiculous."

"Point taken."

Nyota eyed him warily, her anger disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

She sighed. "Well, it's like you said, they've lost their world and it's up to us to help them build a new one. Besides, I've always wanted a younger sister, and Hermione seems to fill in that role rather nicely," she finished with a wan smile.

Kirk merely gave her a sideways glance and nodded. They continued walking in silence.

"How did the meeting with the review board regarding the _Kobayashi Maru_ go today?" Nyota asked after a while, when the silence began to grow uncomfortable.

"Fine," he shrugged. "I told them that nowhere in the rules did it state that we weren't allowed to reprogram the computer, and that when I'm in command, I'm supposed to use every scrap of knowledge and experience and every resource at my disposal to protect the lives of my crew. That's exactly what I did – I used everything in my power to save my hypothetical crew during the test."

"That's it? And they let it go?"

"Yep."

"Any demerits?"

"Nope, nothing," he smiled like a child who was able to get away with eating a piece of candy before dinner. "They even congratulated me for original thinking."

"And you said I was the one with a talented tongue," Nyota chuckled, remembering their very first conversation. "I think you aren't so bad yourself."

"Thanks," Kirk grinned. "Surprisingly, Admiral Barnett wasn't the one who screamed bloody murder – it was Admiral Komack. But the majority ruled in my favour."

"Well, congratulations," she said and Kirk nodded in response.

They reached the Quadrangle A – one of the student accommodation blocks – and walked through the glass sliding doors towards the elevator. Something in Kirk's expression made Nyota inquire, "Are you okay?"

"I think so. You?"

"Not really," replied Nyota honestly, surprising herself. "But I will be."

"Wanna talk about it?" Kirk offered, surprising her even more.

"Not really," she said again. "I think I'd rather mull things over on my own. Thanks for the offer though."

"Anytime," he smiled as they reached the door to Nyota's room. "Well, I better get back to my room. Thanks for the little chat."

"Wait, you're not going back? To the bar, I mean?"

"Nah. I think I'll just have an early night. Try to get more sleep. I've been having trouble with that lately."

Nyota merely nodded in understanding. She'd been having the same trouble, haunted by nightmares – the images of the destruction of Vulcan, Nero's ship, their dead friends and classmates.

"Have a good night then."

"Thanks. You too." With that, he turned and walked away down the hall.

Nyota watched, baffled, as he disappeared behind the door of his room. She wondered what had happened to the Jim Kirk that she had met in a dive in Riverside, Iowa, the one who'd made it his mission to get her first name and a smile out of her every time they met, the one who, in her opinion, joined the Xenolinguistics club mostly to piss her off. She even wondered if she'd ever known the real Jim Kirk at all.

 _Most likely not_ , she decided with a sigh, stepping through the sliding door into her room to get ready for her visit to the Long-Range Sensor Lab.

* * *

 ** _March 7, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, I'm very sorry that we haven't been able to find your people, or any evidence that they ever existed here, in this universe," said head of Starfleet, Admiral Marcus.

Harry and Hermione felt uncomfortable under the sharp gaze of the men sitting across from them. Captain Pike was busy teaching at the Academy, so they were alone in meeting with a few top-ranking Starfleet Admirals in one of the conference rooms at the Starfleet HQs.

"Your case has been handed over to me. I've assembled a team that is already working on trying to find a solution to your predicament," added a thin, short man with hazel eyes and grey, balding hair who had introduced himself as Admiral Beaufort, head of Starfleet Advanced Technologies.

"We are truly sorry for your situation. I cannot even begin to imagine how difficult it must be for you to be so far from your time and place," said Admiral Nogura, head of Starfleet Security – a middle aged man with East Asian ancestry. "Your circumstance is unprecedented. Not to sound pessimistic, but are you prepared for the possibility that you will have to stay here, with us?"

"That thought has crossed our mind, sir," replied Harry, shifting in his seat, leaning forward, and propping his elbows on the thick oak table. "But we're not giving up yet."

"Of course not," agreed a tall, dark-skinned man – Admiral Cartwright, head of Starfleet Intelligence. "Neither would we expect you to."

"You're so young," Cartwright continued, examining their files on his PADD. "Mr. Potter, you are twenty-one years of age?" Harry nodded warily. "And you were something of a police officer or military?"

After receiving an affirmative nod from Harry again, Cartwright turned to Hermione.

"And you, Ms. Granger, are twenty-two years of age and a healer – which is the counterpart to a medical doctor?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"Captain Pike also mentioned in his report that you worked in a place called Department of Mysteries?" asked Beaufort enthusiastically.

Something in his face made Hermione think of what her mother referred to as a 'mad scientist.'

Hermione threw a quick glance in Harry's direction. Their eyes met for a few moments and a silent conversation took place.

"Yes, sir," she replied slowly.

"Could you tell us more about this Department?" continued Beaufort, clasping his hands together and smiling – a smile that Hermione found slightly creepy.

She took a deep breath. "Department of Mysteries carries out confidential research by people, like me, who are known as the Unspeakables due to the classified nature of the work that we conduct. That is all I can tell you," she finished with a tone of finality.

Beaufort visibly deflated at her words and leaned back in his chair.

"Very well," agreed Marcus, his tone neutral. He then looked between Harry and Hermione. "Have you given any thought to your future here? What is it that you would like to do, if you can't go back?"

Hermione considered the question. "Well, I've always wanted to do something worthwhile, to be able to make a difference for the better in our world." She nervously bit down on her bottom lip. "I know it sounds ambitious and all . . ."

"We like ambitious people, Ms. Granger," smiled Nogura. "It's what lets our society prosper."

Hermione nodded uncertainly. "I thought of becoming a doctor. I feel happy when I'm able to use my skills to help people."

"And how about research?" asked Beaufort, leaning forward again. "After all, there are more ways than one to help people."

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged. "My knowledge of this world is seriously lacking. I would have to fill all the gaps before I can think of anything like that."

"That's understandable," agreed Marcus. "And what about you, Mr. Potter?"

"I don't know," confessed Harry. "I haven't really thought much about it. Like Hermione said, my knowledge of this world is also limited."

"And yet, you were able to singlehandedly stop the _Narada_ and prevent the destruction of Earth and other Federation planets," pointed out Cartwright, swiping his thumb across his PADD.

Hermione felt Harry tense next to her.

"It seems to me that you already possess certain skills that would make you a valuable asset to –"

"With all due respect, sir," interrupted Harry somewhat testily, "but neither I nor Hermione want to be anyone's _asset._ "

Something about this Admiral didn't quite sit well with him. Hermione could practically sense Harry's anger bubbling beneath his skin. Leaning forward, she placed a hand over one of his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Harry locked eyes with her for a moment, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Harry took a breath and added coolly, "We just want to go back home."

"Of course. As stated before, we are looking into that," said Marcus calmly as he leaned back and pulled his hands off the table, glancing at Cartwright as he did.

Some unspoken signal seemed to pass between them, and Marcus continued, "I think Admiral Cartwright might have used the wrong word. Would you be interested in being our allies and in working with us to preserve peace in the galaxy? I know that Captain Pike has already informed you of Starfleet's functions. Would you be interested in joining Starfleet?"

"Er – what?" asked Harry, slightly taken aback. He glanced at Hermione, who was studying the admirals with a furrowed brow.

Marcus smiled at them. "Hoping that you'd be willing to put your talents to use for the good of the galaxy, I've taken the liberty of procuring you both acceptance to Starfleet Academy. It's there, if you want it. You said you wanted to do something worthwhile, and Starfleet is just the place for that," he said, producing two small PADDs and handing them over to Harry and Hermione. "I pulled a few strings. Of course, you'd have to study hard and catch up on all the history and science and whatnot – but from what I know, you're already doing that. You'd be assigned tutors that would help you prepare for the Academy life. It wouldn't be easy, but you two don't strike me as the type to back down from a good challenge," he finished, smiling again.

"Sir," started Hermione, eyeing Marcus suspiciously, "I reviewed the procedure for enrolling into the Starfleet Academy. A candidate has to undergo entrance competition exams in order to be able to study there."

"That's correct, Ms. Granger," confirmed Beaufort, somewhat giddy. "However, your abilities and talents do give you a great advantage. After all, Arthur C. Clarke did say that ' _Any sufficiently advanced technology –"_

"– _is indistinguishable from magic,'"_ Harry finished swiftly. "Yes, we know."

Beaufort beamed at him. "Our technology is advanced, and in certain instances it seems to match and even exceed your magic – but of course, for the time being, your magic is still better. That's why we would like to make an exception for you."

"Of course, if you really want to," added Nogura, "you can go through with the entrance competition exams, but it's our belief that your time would be better spent preparing yourselves for actual Academy life, rather than exams, wouldn't you agree? After all, time is something that one seems to never have enough of," he finished with a smile.

"You don't have to make a decision right now," said Marcus. "Just think about it. Consider what you can accomplish. After all, the Academy does have the best resources. And I'm not just talking about its library and archives."

Marcus threw a quick look at Hermione at this, which Harry noticed.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry slowly, trying to read Marcus' face, but the Admiral's expression remained carefully neutral. "We will give it all due consideration."

To her horror, Hermione suddenly felt tears rush to her eyes. She clenched her fists tightly, trying to use the pain of her nails digging into her skin to keep her grounded. And then it hit her. It was the phrase, the one that Harry just used. She'd heard it all through her childhood from her father.

" _Daddy, can we go camping next weekend? Daddy, may I have a kitten, please?"_

 _"Daddy, do you promise to live forever?"_ she had asked, tears streaming down her cheeks, after her sister had died.

" _I will give it all due consideration, darling,"_ her father replied solemnly, his deep voice rumbling like a distant thunder.

Hermione blinked back tears and swallowed a lump in her throat.

 _Focus!_ she told herself, resolving to work on controlling her emotions better. _You can't let little things like this set you off!_

"One more thing," Marcus added, giving Hermione a concerned look. "It is a belief of Starfleet Command that it is best for you to avoid using magic in public places. You can still practice your skills, of course, just do it discreetly. I think you'll agree with me when I say that you wouldn't enjoy the media frenzy that would accompany the revelation of your magic to the general public."

Harry and Hermione both cringed in response.

"We didn't think so," smiled Nogura.

"On behalf of Starfleet and the Federation, thank you once more," said Marcus.

For Harry and Hermione that was the signal that they were being excused. They expressed their gratitude, said their goodbyes, and slipped out of the conference room.

Once they were gone, for a few moments, no one in the room spoke.

Then Cartwright broke the silence, "We must have them in Starfleet!"

"Patience, Lance," said Marcus. "Don't you remember Newton's Third Law? _For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction._ Too much force and you'll push them away."

"But the Klingons and Romulans –"

"We're looking into that already and will deal with them, if necessary. For now, the situation is under control." He paused, considering something. "I believe patience and tact are necessary when interacting with Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger. It would do you all good, gentlemen, to remember that our primary goal is, of course, getting them back home. But in the meantime, we don't know everything about their abilities and can't afford to make enemies out of them."

"You don't think they're a threat to us, do you?" inquired Nogura.

"No, Heihachiro, I don't believe so. I've spent a little over a week with them and from what I could tell, they really just want to go home. They're wary of Muggles, as they call us – just the nature of their society, I guess – which is why we need to proceed with discretion if we want to gain their trust. Besides, if they really wanted to do something to harm our way of life, I'm sure that they would have already done it, what with their abilities and all." Marcus paused and studied the faces of his colleagues. "No, I believe they have only peace in mind, especially after fighting in that war of theirs. Plus, their actions on the _Enterprise_ and the _Narada_ are good proof of that."

"Did they speak of it at all? Of this war?" asked Cartwright.

"Not much," Marcus replied, tapping his PADD and pulling up Harry's file that had his photo, the information they were able to gather on him, along with the large red letters CLASSIFIED plastered across the screen. "Only that some madman wanted to kill or enslave everyone he deemed unworthy, including people like us, Muggles."

"And he was defeated, I take it?"

"Yes, and by none other than Mr. Potter," said Marcus, gesturing at the photo of Harry on the screen of his PADD, "which is why we need him on our side."

"What do you suggest, Alex?" inquired Nogura.

"Just leave them be for now," advised Marcus. "Keep an eye on them, but leave them be. They've just recently lost their world, for goodness' sake. Just let them adjust to being here."

"If I read Ms. Granger right, then she will accept our invitation to study at the Academy," noted Cartwright. "And where she goes, Mr. Potter will follow. I'm certain of it."

"If _I_ read _them_ right," interjected Beaufort, "then the opposite is also true: where Mr. Potter goes, Ms. Granger follows. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were involved – the way they communicate with their eyes, the way they read each other's body language." He turned to Marcus. "But since you said that they're just friends . . ."

"They are," confirmed Marcus. "The best of friends." He pulled up Hermione's file. "Even though Mr. Potter's skills would be best suited for a career in Security or Intelligence, and Ms. Granger's in Medical or R&D, it is best we let them choose for themselves. It's the right thing to do."

The other admirals considered this and nodded reluctantly in agreement.

"What I wouldn't give to be able to work with Ms. Granger!" said Beaufort wistfully. "Can you imagine the possibilities of combining their magic with our technology?!"

"Who knows, Pierre," Marcus smiled, studying Hermione's photo. "You might just get your wish."


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Beta Love: _**Scarlet Dewdrops**_ , **_Insanity-Red_**.

* * *

Chapter 17

 ** _March 7, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

"Sometimes I think that I might have dreamed this all up," said Harry gesturing around himself.

He and Hermione were sitting side by side on the luscious green lawn of the Golden Gate Park. Several other people – non-humans among them – were also out, enjoying the uncharacteristically warm and sunny day.

"That maybe I'll just wake up in the morning, next to Ginny, and then tell her about this crazy dream that I had – aliens, spaceships, and planet-destroying devices . . . And she'd laugh, of course, tease me for my wild imagination . . . But every morning I wake up and have to face the reality of the situation. It's kind of depressing, really."

Hermione nodded and reached for Harry's hand. "I know what you mean. But at least we have each other. I don't know if I could do this without you."

Harry squeezed her hand in return. "Ditto. Do you think there's any hope for us? Or do you think the sooner we accept the truth, the better it will be?"

Hermione's head turned in his direction, curly hair flying with her abrupt movement. "Harry, you aren't giving up, are you?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No," he denied reflexively. But then he sighed.

"I don't know, Hermione. I'm just . . . tired of everything. Really tired," he admitted reluctantly. "After the war and all that Voldemort business, all I ever wanted was just to have a normal life. But no. Somehow I always find myself in some sort of trouble."

He let go of Hermione's hand and threw up his arms in exasperation before crossing them irritably.

"It's just – maybe you're right, you know? About things being different here. Maybe I wouldn't have to bear the weight of the world here, like I had to before. And let's face it: people still expect that of me back home. If there's a problem somewhere, they all expect the Boy Who Lived to show up and fix it all. And I'm tired of fixing other people's messes."

"Then you've chosen the wrong profession."

Harry smiled grimly. "Should have become a gardener or something. Then the most trouble I'd get into would be a gnome infestation."

"That wouldn't be you though, Harry," Hermione said gently. "Would it?"

"No, I suppose not. I want to go back. I do. It's just . . . people here see me for who I really am. I'm not the Saviour of the Wizarding World and all that rubbish – just me. Just Harry Potter. And I like that. It also helps that I don't have to worry about Death Eaters appearing out of nowhere to take away everything I've ever known and cared about . . . Well, almost everything."

He put an arm around Hermione's shoulders and drew her close.

Hermione's heart broke for him. If anyone deserved to be happy, it would be Harry. If there were a way to send him back, she'd do it in a heartbeat – even if it meant for her to stay behind. Hell, even if it required her to sacrifice her own life. But Harry, of course, would never agree to anything of the sort. He was much too noble.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, embracing him.

"What for?" He tightened the arm around her shoulders to return the hug, but was genuinely puzzled by her words. "It's not like it was your fault we ended up here."

"Not yours either."

Harry looked like he wanted to counter her, but she broke away and gave him a stern look that made him hold his tongue.

"Okay," he conceded. "It's kind of ironic though, don't you think? For us to end up on an Earth that has no magic. I mean, ever since I found out about magic, I haven't been able to imagine a world without it. And here we are . . ."

"Everything that can happen does happen, in equal and parallel universes – it's the central assumption of quantum cosmology," Hermione inserted matter-of-factly.

Harry gave her a look that said, _'That was not helpful at all'_ and uttered, "Right."

He shook his head in exasperation, "We've tried everything: tracking for magical signatures and traces, summoning the Knight Bus, performing magic in front of Muggles – everything we could think of. There is nothing. You were right about magic feeling different here, and it had nothing to do with being in space."

He took a moment to boggle at that statement. How casually he could talk of being in _space_ – of all places – was odd in itself.

"Honestly, I could imagine a lot of things happening to me in my lifetime, but this – this was great big shock."

"Well, I'm sure there are worse places we could have ended up. I suppose we should be happy no one's trying to kill us here. Although, I admit, I'm somewhat wary of those admirals we've just met."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Especially Admiral Cartwright and that scientist bloke . . . I'm not entirely certain about Marcus and Nogura, but the entire time we were in that room with them I could practically hear Mad-Eye in the back of my head barking _'Constant vigilance!'_ " said Harry, making a very accurate impersonation of Moody. "You don't reckon they might try and lock us up in a lab to figure out what makes us tick, do you?"

"That would be illegal. I've looked it up. We are officially Federation citizens now, and therefore fall under the Federation's laws. Besides, any form of genetic experimentation has been outlawed since the Eugenics Wars."

Harry scoffed. "Something tells me that if these people get desperate, they'd find a way around any laws. Or just break them entirely."

"Well, so far they've only asked for our help in regards to 'preserving peace in the galaxy.' And, Harry, you have to admit that if we are to stay here, peace in the galaxy is something we would have a personal interest in maintaining."

"Fine. I just don't like the idea of being anyone's _asset_ ," he cringed at the word in distaste. "But here's what we're going to do: we'll practice wandless magic like our lives depend on it, because one day they just might; wands aren't unbreakable, and we don't have access to backups. And I want you to teach me Mind Arts – at least Occlumency. I want to be able to defend my mind, if necessary. You know, with all these telepathic and empathic aliens around . . ."

Hermione looked at him in bewilderment. "Really?"

She hadn't expected him to want to try learning the discipline ever again after the fiasco that was lessons with Professor Snape.

"Really. I think it's time to get over whatever issues I had with it and learn it properly." He flashed her a smile. "I can't think of a better teacher. And we have to remember: constant vigilance."

Hermione nodded in agreement, "Constant vigilance."

Silence settled between them as their attention shifted to a noisy group of young adults passing by, laughing and making jokes at each other's expense. A family with a young child and a dog strolled leisurely along one of the pathways.

Harry suddenly grabbed her hand and squeezed it, gazing intently into her eyes. "You know that I'll never let anything happen to you if I can help it," he promised fervently.

"Oh Harry," Hermione sighed. "You and your hero complex. You can't save everyone, you know. No matter how hard you try."

"Who said anything about saving everyone? All I have to do is save you. And I _will_ do it, because I'm going to protect the only family I have left," he finished firmly.

"I hope you realize that that goes both ways," she whispered.

Harry nodded, not quite sure what to say to that. He then started cautiously, "Erm . . . Speaking of family . . . Your sister?"

Hermione inhaled and slowly exhaled. "She's dead. But I imagine you've already gathered that."

She paused to collect her thoughts.

"My parents always wanted to have at least two children, but were unable to conceive for a long time after they had me. Then, one day, it happened. They were so happy. I was six at the time, and very excited to have a little brother or sister," Hermione recounted, a small, sad smile playing on her lips.

Her smile fell as she continued, "But the pregnancy was very difficult – there were complications. And then my mum got into an accident and Juliet was born prematurely. Too prematurely. The doctors did everything they could – and Juliet was a fighter. She lived for three weeks, against all odds."

Hermione took a moment to gather herself.

"It's astonishing how quickly one can fall in love," she said softly. "And I did – love her, that is. I still remember her – just a tiny little thing, hooked up to all those monitors and machines . . . And her eyes . . . You know how sometimes you look into someone's eyes and it's like they can see into your very soul? Juliet had eyes like that. Odd for a baby, I know."

She paused, wiping a few stray tears, and added, her voice breaking, "Sometimes having a good memory can be a curse."

Harry pulled her close, letting her bury her face in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, holding her tightly with one arm and smoothing down her hair with his free hand.

After a few moments he asked carefully, "Why didn't you say something beforehand?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said sarcastically, pulling away and shrugging her shoulders as she swiped impatiently at her tears. "Maybe because we had more important things to deal with at the time? For example, a psychopath on the loose who was trying to kill you at every turn and destroy our world as we knew it. It just didn't seem that important. I mean, she was long dead . . ."

"But – but what about after the fact, after the War?" he asked gently.

Hermione let out a bitter watery laugh. "They never did stop hunting us, did they? I mean, look at where we are now because of them."

"Does Ron know?"

She shook her head in response.

"Why not?"

"Harry, it's not something you can just casually drop into a conversation. It never really came up. Besides, it's – it's still painful to talk about. Even after all these years."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Do you really think it's possible to fully get over losing someone you love?" he asked, his tone both doubtful and wistful.

Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if trying to prevent herself from falling apart. "I've thought a lot about it . . . and I'm not sure you ever really do."

"That's cheery."

"That's the truth, Harry. You learn to live with it – with them. Because they do stay with you, even if they aren't living, breathing people anymore. It's not always the same crushing grief you feel at first, the kind that swamps you and makes you want to cry in the wrong places and get irrationally angry with all the idiots who are still alive . . . It's something you learn to accommodate. It's like – I don't know – adapting around a hole. You become a . . . a bagel instead of a bun."

There was such sadness in her face that Harry felt very guilty for bringing up the subject in the first place. But then the last line of her little speech hit him.

"A bagel," he repeated dumbly.

"I know, stupid analogy," she muttered.

"No, I think it's brilliant." The corner of his mouth lifted in a sorry excuse of a smirk. "It pretty much nails it." He studied the grass between his feet. "Although, if we're going with a food analogy . . . we must be more like Swiss cheese at this point."

Hermione let out a weak, watery laugh and Harry smiled. He was glad that he'd been able to lighten the mood, even if only a little bit. This was the first time in days that they'd had the opportunity to take their time and just talk without anyone interfering.

Harry looked up at the skies and wondered, "Do you think they could be out there? Magical people? Or do you think that we really are the only ones in this entire universe?"

Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip and, instead of answering his question, asked one of her own. "Have you had any weird dreams lately?"

Harry shook his head slowly, looking at her in confusion. "No. In fact, lately I can't remember any of my dreams. Not even the nightmares, which is odd. But I've already told you about it."

"So, they haven't restarted then? The nightmares, I mean?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

Hermione took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "This is going to sound mad, but please hear me out. I – I've experienced some strange dreams lately. I'm not even entirely sure they were just dreams. They seemed so real."

Harry sat up straighter immediately, placing his attention completely on Hermione. "Tell me."

"The first one was onboard the _Enterprise_ , just before I woke up in the Medbay after the whole thing with Nero," Hermione started, diving into the description of the first time she saw the mysterious lady dressed in flowing white robes and a golden diadem on her forehead.

Harry looked thoughtful. "And you've had more dreams like this?"

"Yes. She appeared again our first night here in London."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing. She just gestured for me to follow her to this lake . . . Harry, whatever that place was, there were magical creatures there – gnomes and mermaids, although they didn't look anything like the gnomes and mermaids that we've seen before. And there were many others that I couldn't identify."

"Well then, we need to find this lady," Harry decided. "Whoever she is, it sounds like she's magical. What do you remember about this place? Where on Earth could it be?"

Hermione looked a bit uncomfortable when she admitted, "That's the thing, Harry. I don't think it was on Earth at all." Seeing Harry's questioning look, she elaborated, "There were two moons."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again as a new thought occurred to him. He'd been so intrigued by the possibility of magic in this universe that he hadn't immediately thought of the possible risks.

"So, what you're saying is . . ." he said slowly. "Some odd, alien woman has been getting into your head while you sleep to show you some strange planet? Do you realize how mental that sounds?"

"I know, Harry! I know –"

"And how is she getting into your head anyway?" he demanded. "You know Occlumency!"

Hermione nodded. "That's another question I'd like to have an answer to."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "You know, this sounds all kinds of weird and dangerous to me."

"The lady wasn't dangerous, Harry," she defended. "She was trying to help –"

"And how do you know that?"

"Just a feeling."

Harry scoffed. "Did it ever occur to you that your _feeling_ could be wrong – or even deliberately misleading? You know from my experiences that dreams like this more often than not don't mean anything good – or at least if anyone could understand dreams like this, it would be me! You should have said something to me right away."

"Harry," Hermione retorted sternly, "your dreams were caused by your connection to Voldemort through the Horcrux. I'm absolutely sure that I have no connection to this lady – I've never seen her before, and I most certainly do not have a chunk of her soul."

"But if there's no connection, how does she know so much about you? How does she know me?"

"I don't _know_ , Harry. All I know is that what I've seen points to her having the answers we've been looking for. And I intend to find her, because I'm tired of all the theories and hypotheses. I want to know _exactly_ how and why we got here, and if we can get back at all. I want to know why she keeps appearing in my dreams. Yes, don't look at me like that. I saw her again last night –"

"But you've still been practicing Occlumency regularly, haven't you?"

"Of course!" she defended. "But she gets through somehow. Maybe my mental shields are compromised due to all the emotional upheaval that we've both been through lately . . ."

Harry sighed. "And what did she do this time around, might I ask?"

"She took me to some kind of a cave. There were runes carved on every wall."

"Did you recognize any of the runes?"

"No. I searched for a few in the _Spellman's Syllabary_ , but they weren't there." She bit her bottom lip and glanced at her friend nervously. "Harry, I know you must think I'm mad . . . but I know I have to find this lady. I just _know_ it. That's why I'm going to accept the invitation to study at Starfleet Academy."

Harry closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "I knew it."

"Just think about this logically. We have to do all the catching up regardless of what we do next, right? Like it or not, we're stuck here – and, for now, there's nothing we can do to change that. I'm not saying we should give up, but we also can't be so hung up on where we'd rather be that we forget to live," she said earnestly, placing a hand over one of Harry's. "I know that this isn't the life we wanted or planned for, but it's ours, so we might as well make the most of it. And if we are to live here, then why not join Starfleet? The Academy does have the best resources if we want to find a way back, or at least find this mysterious lady. Plus, just imagine what we could find out there," she finished with a small smile, eyes cast upwards to the skies.

"Danger. That's what we'd find out there," Harry retorted, shaking his head.

Still, he had to admit that she was right. Leave it to Hermione to drive him into a metaphorical corner with _logic_ , of all weapons.

"Sometimes I hate it when you're right." He sighed. "Fine. But it's going to be difficult."

"When have you known me to take the easy way out?" She gave him a small smile. "If there's a will, there's a way," she added with determination. "Besides, we'll have tutors. I'm sure we can do this."

Harry nodded in agreement. They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company and the warm weather and sunshine.

Then Harry suddenly broke the silence. "So, tell me about this magnet."

Hermione, startled out of her thoughts, turned a questioning look at Harry. He elaborated.

"The one that you asked Ambassador Spock about? The one that might – sort of – attract our Prime Universe to us?"

Hermione furrowed her brow and chewed on her bottom lip before she answered, "It's nothing, Harry. It doesn't matter. I doubt it'll work anyway."

"What is it?" he insisted. When she didn't respond, he continued, "Please, I know that you don't want to give me any false hopes . . . But, please, I need to know."

He gave her that look – the one of a desperate man grasping for straws – and she lost her determination to remain silent. She just couldn't say no to such a look. In answer, she took off her engagement ring, placed it on the palm of her hand, and held it out to Harry. He looked confused for a moment and hesitated. When he reached out to grab it, two wings – much like the ones on a snitch – suddenly sprang forth from it with a _clank_ , and the ring fluttered in front of Hermione.

"Er . . . Brilliant. Your ring's got snitch wings," said Harry, rubbing the back of his neck. "But what's that got to do with getting us back?"

Hermione snatched her ring back, its wings retracting with another _clank_ , and replaced it on her finger. "It's not the wings, Harry. Those are just . . . something Ron did to impress me, I suppose. At least, I didn't see any purpose behind them other than that." She rolled her eyes and exhaled sharply. "Do you remember Dumbledore's Deluminator and what it did?"

"Yeah. It didn't just turn off lights," said Harry, catching on to her train of thought.

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. And that's how –"

"– Ron found us during the Horcrux hunt!"

She nodded again. "Ron wanted to figure out how it worked, and he finally did. He applied the same principle to this ring."

"Hang on. That was all the rubbish about the tiny ball of light touching his heart, right?"

"It's not rubbish, Harry," Hermione defended. "It really works that way."

"Are you telling me a tiny ball of light can appear out of it and somehow lead us back?" he asked incredulously, pointing to her ring.

"Yes. At least, theoretically. If we were in the same dimension as Ron, we'd only have to twist the diamond three times counterclockwise to get a Portkey capable of transporting us from anywhere on Earth to Ron. The ring is tied to his wand, you see. He didn't get the chance to explain everything to me, but he did mention the branch of magic that studies Love."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Harry.

"He is," she smiled fondly.

Harry hesitated for a moment before asking carefully, "You mean to say he did this _all by himself_?"

She shook her head. "Not quite. He told me that George helped him."

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed. "So, that's what they were doing for all those months. And I thought Ron was just helping with the joke shop."

"He was. But I imagine they also worked on this." She lifted her hand with the ring.

Harry chuckled. "So Ron _willingly_ went to the _library_ to do _research_?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Of course he did. Why the tone of surprise?"

Harry smirked, "Hermione, I know he loves you enough to brave the perils of research. It's just – this is Ron we're talking about!"

She crossed her arms on her chest and lifted an eyebrow. "And your point is?"

"He hates libraries!"

She lightly smacked him on the shoulder. "Ron may be lazy, but he's not stupid."

Harry raised a placating hand. "I never said he was . . . It's just – he usually falls asleep in the library . . ."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched in a way that indicated she was trying to hold back a smile. "Oh, shut up."

Harry smiled crookedly in return. "Anyway, moving on. I imagine that you've tried the ring out and it didn't work, right?"

"No, because –"

"– we're in a different dimension, I know. So what we need to do is somehow break down the barriers between dimensions, and then we'll be able to find the right one with your ring. Any ideas?"

"No, not yet."

Harry's mood noticeably brightened, though it looked a bit forced. "It's fine. This – this is good news. At least we won't be looking for a specific grain of sand inside a desert tornado, wearing a blindfold and bouncing on a trampoline – as Scotty put it." Harry smirked at the metaphor. "This will be more like looking for a needle inside of a haystack. And we've already got a magnet."

"Right. We just have to find the haystack," Hermione sighed tiredly, her tone suggesting it was an impossible task.

Harry, however, wasn't discouraged. He shook his head in amazement at Ron. "That bloke. If we get back, I'm going to kiss him."

"He might punch you," Hermione warned, a smile lighting up her face. "Right after he hugs you."

Harry chuckled. "He's just full of surprises, isn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "You know, he'll never admit it, but I think he was trying to prove something to me with this," she said, eyeing her ring.

"What? That he isn't the dunderhead some people believe him to be?" he joked.

Hermione playfully nudged Harry in the ribs. "Something like that."

"It's funny though. I was paranoid about protection, and Ron was paranoid about – what? Not being able to find you?"

"Yes. That's exactly it. He wanted to make sure that if we ever got separated – you know, like we did during the Horcrux hunt – we'd be able to find each other again." She smiled at her friend and added, her tone impressed, "And Ginny told me all about how you weaponized her engagement ring."

Harry merely grinned mischievously in response, his eyes lighting up with pride.

After a few silent moments during which the two observed the people around them, Harry leapt to his feet and held out a hand to Hermione. "Let's head back, shall we? I suddenly feel hungry."

As they walked back to their flat, Hermione's arm looped through one of Harry's, he asked her curiously, "Hermione, why do you think I haven't seen that mysterious, alien magical lady?"

"I don't know, Harry. Maybe it wasn't your turn?"

Sure enough, that very night Harry dreamt of a place with lilac-coloured skies, magical creatures he had never seen before, and a tall lady with a kind smile and dazzling, blue-violet eyes.

* * *

 ** _March 8, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

Spock was currently busy in the main Academy hangar, supervising the allocation of supplies. Outwardly he appeared in complete control of himself. Inwardly, however, his control remained shaky. He glanced across a delivery path and noticed the presence of another Vulcan. The other man stood at the far end of the hangar, his back to Spock as he quietly surveyed his surroundings.

The man's dress was unusual – more affected than practical. It was an odd choice for a Vulcan, especially for one as elderly as this individual appeared to be. Heading towards the figure, Spock knew of only one person who would both dress as such and have reason to be in the hangar at that moment. Still, as he drew closer, his intuition seemed to detect something slightly off about the other Vulcan. Something familiar, but not quite right.

"Father?" asked Spock unsurely.

At the sound of his voice the figure turned. Expecting Sarek, Spock was more taken aback than he allowed himself to appear.

"I am not our father," replied the elderly Vulcan.

Spock gave the Vulcan a long look and recognized several of his own features. When he saw the man's eyes – his mother's eyes – he realized that he was staring at . . . himself, only older – much older. His thoughts rose and fell like waves cresting in a storm as the revelation sank in.

At a loss, Spock could only manage one word. "Fascinating."

His older counterpart nodded in agreement and took a step forwards. "There are so few Vulcans left. We cannot afford to ignore each other."

Spock the younger was clearly puzzled as his quick mind worked overtime, connecting points as he looked back on recent events. "Why did you send Kirk back onto the _Enterprise_ when you alone could have explained the truth?"

"Because you needed each other. I presumed this because of my own experiences in the future. A future that you will now – perhaps for the best – never know. It will likely remain forever closed to you, now that the past has been altered. In that future, James T. Kirk and I developed a personal and working relationship that resulted in many great undertakings and achievements. It was a friendship that defined us both in ways that neither of us could have anticipated.

"I could not deprive you of such a friendship, of all that you could accomplish together. You and Jim Kirk boast opposing yet complementary personalities and minds. When combined, when set to solve a problem or face a difficult situation together, you will invariably accomplish far more than either of you could separately."

"So forcing me to learn how to deal with Kirk, how to function beside him, how to . . . trust him – it was all a test?" the younger Spock concluded.

"Nothing so formal. But I felt it was for the best. Whatever camaraderie that you have now had to occur naturally. It was not something that could be forced or imposed by any outside force. I will not deny that there was risk inherent to such an approach, but am pleased to see that the result justified it."

The younger Spock regarded his elder self in surprise. He had expected an explanation, but what he had received was an unabashed expression of emotions that the older Vulcan clearly felt towards his old friend.

Uncomfortable with such a display – particularly when it came from himself – Spock the younger attempted to shift the conversation elsewhere. "How did you persuade him to keep your secret?"

"I did not have to," Spock senior said enigmatically.

"Miss Granger," Spock the younger deduced after a brief pause.

He studied the elderly Vulcan and must have seen something in his expression that made him say, his tone a cross between a question and a statement, "You have met her."

The older Spock nodded in the affirmative.

"Then she must have told you about the rules of time-travel – that it is not permitted for one's future self to see their past self."

"An old comrade of mine has shown me that breaking the rules can, at times, be an acceptable alternative," Spock the elder replied, corners of his mouth twitching in an unmistakable smile. "But it is not so in this case. This timeline has already been altered beyond what Miss Granger's understanding of time travel allows for. Meeting with you now cannot alter it further, as your life no longer matches the life that I have experienced."

Unable to contain his curiosity, the young science officer inquired, "How many people know of your true identity?"

"Not many. Most know me by the name Selek, and consider me to be your relative. I firmly believe that it is wise to conceal my true identity – both to grant me privacy, and for protection. You can only imagine how many unscrupulous people might attempt to coerce me into divulging information about the future – even though this timeline will not necessarily unfold like the one I came from. Limiting the knowledge of my true history is safer. For everyone."

Spock nodded in agreement and considered Selek's earlier words. "Your decision to send Kirk aboard the _Enterprise_ was still a gamble. There were too many variables for your desired outcome to be ensured. I nearly killed him, for example."

"Call my actions an act of faith," Selek countered. "Or if you prefer, one of trust. One I hope that you will repeat in the future. I came to trust implicitly the James Kirk of my time. I felt – I believed – that despite your initial differences, you would come to do the same here." He paused for emphasis. "I still feel that way."

"I can foresee such a development," Spock confessed. "Though, perhaps, one devoid of the modifier 'implicitly.' "

"All good things come only through the passage of time. For now, follow your chosen path."

They regarded each other for a long moment before Spock broke the contemplative silence. "This is all hypothetical, as your wish is unlikely to occur. In the face of extinction, it is only logical that I resign my Starfleet commission and focus all my efforts toward rebuilding our race."

Selek's eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. "And yet, you can be in two places at once."

His expression turned thoughtful as he continued, "I urge you to remain in Starfleet. You are aware that I have already located a suitable planet on which to establish a Vulcan colony."

He paused, shifting from one foot to another. "Spock, in this case, do yourself a favour. Put aside logic. Do what feels right."

Selek pivoted on one foot and took a few steps towards the nearest exit. He halted, and turned for one last look, saying, "Since my customary farewell would appear oddly self-serving, I shall simply say good luck."

They exchanged salutes, heavily wrinkled and aged fingers rising to the exact same height and distance from the body as their younger counterparts'. Anyone paying close attention to the display of perfectly matched gestures would have been perplexed and thought that they had been made by the same person. However, they would most likely write it off as a 'Vulcan thing.'


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 18

The thing about being catapulted into a whole new life is that it forces one to rethink nearly everything. With the loss of their loved ones, their way of life, and their entire universe, nearly every thread that had linked Harry and Hermione to who they were had been abruptly cut. Untethered, they had simply floated off into some unknown universe, with only each other as ties to their identities.

Yet despite feeling unattached to the new world that they'd been shoved into, they had found it necessary to integrate themselves into it. In order to keep up with everything, they had to study hard and adapt quickly to whatever their new lives threw at them.

Given the Starfleet higher-ups' apparent interest in two magic-users' abilities, Admiral Marcus had been very happy when Harry and Hermione accepted the invitation to study at Starfleet Academy. He'd wasted no time in making the necessary arrangements – within days, the two friends were able to begin their studies. Officially, they wouldn't be cadets until the start of the new academic year. But since they were required to wear the uniform and had access to all the facilities that regular cadets had, the students who didn't personally know them merely thought of them as equals in status.

The situation they had found themselves in had forced them to consider certain aspects of living in a new light. Harry, who had hated Muggle school as a child, was surprised to find that he actually didn't mind the Academy. The advanced technology, in many cases, really was like magic. Plus, having a friend like Scotty (whose enthusiasm was contagious) helped Harry keep up with all the assignments and requirements. Harry's favourite, however, was physical training; not only did he enjoy it, he excelled in it. He had taken his promise to protect Hermione very seriously, and physical training was perhaps the most helpful of the things he was learning at the Academy in regards to fulfilling it.

Harry also liked the fact that he no longer had to be the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was just Harry Potter, who could simply walk down the street without being harassed by the press or doting admirers and well-wishers. And as much as he missed his friends and loved ones with every fiber of his being, this escape from being a famous hero was a start in making up for it.

Hermione had left behind a title as well – she wasn't the Brightest Witch of her age here. In fact, she had found her knowledge of this world to be vastly insufficient and now hurried to bridge that gap; she pushed herself harder, studied more, and slept a lot less (much to Harry's growing concern). Physical training wasn't her forte, but she managed, improving every day.

Because of their different strengths, Harry and Hermione had ended up with different tutors. Pike, who had initially taken them both under his wing, quickly realized it was necessary to split them up for more productive and efficient learning. As a result, Spock had come forward and volunteered to tutor Hermione, with Harry remaining under Pike's tutelage. So far, it was working out well for them. Hermione and Spock, both highly logical people, worked well together – and so did Harry and Pike, given that the two had developed a certain camaraderie during their time together on the _Narada_.

Aside from preparing for the Academy life, Harry and Hermione spent a lot of time pouring over the books that she had been able to bring with her from their universe, as well as Starfleet library and archives – hours and hours spent looking through the available information, all in an attempt to find anything that might send them back home. They had also been provided with a couple key facilities – a training room (where they could practice their magic and refine their dueling skills with little risk to others thanks to the force fields and wards erected around it), and a lab (where Hermione in particular had been experimenting with the Earth-grown and alien ingredients available to them, trying to find potion substitutes for magical plants and animal parts).

Also in the lab, Hermione had worked on a project that would help the Academy to more thoroughly weed out those unsuitable for a command position. After the incident with Nero, Spock had refused to continue programming the _Kobayashi Maru_ test, pointing out that the true purpose of the test – to experience fear in the face of certain death – was not achieved, due to the fact that all the cadets going into the simulation were always aware of the fact that it was _just_ a simulation. Upon hearing about it, Hermione had offered a way of making the test more realistic with the help of magic – more specifically, the type of magic that the Weasley twins had employed when they created their Patented Daydream Charm.

With the help of Harry (who had improved enormously in Potions, if only to get up to the Auror standard of expertise), she'd found a way to create a potion from the materials available in the new dimension for the cadets to drink before entering the simulation – it would cause them to truly believe that they were on a ship, trying to save a stranded vessel on the edge of the Neutral Zone. With caution in mind, she had managed to come up with a way to prevent the potion from being used for anything other than the test. She had made sure that the potion's effects could only be activated with a password, which was further protected by the Fidelius Charm, with herself as a Secret Keeper. The final protection, and perhaps the easiest to ensure, was the simple fact that the potion would wear off upon the completion of the simulation – either through the candidate's failure, or from the hour-long time limit running to an end.

Hermione had also added a condition to her creation's usage – that the _Kobayashi Maru_ would have the possibility of victory.

Between all this work and Harry's Occlumency lessons, the two had had very little time to breathe. Their full schedules served them well, for they stopped them from spending too much time thinking about where they'd rather be . . . about home. Life in this new world was sometimes uncomfortable – if only because it was literally a universe-away from the range of their comfort zones – but having each other and supportive friends was very helpful.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Yet for all the time that passed, they were still no closer to finding their way back . . .

* * *

 ** _May 17, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

Nyota and Hermione sat in one of the secluded corners of the library. Most of the computer stations were occupied, and many tables in the vicinity hosted cadets who were hunched over their PADDs and, more rarely, actual books. Nyota was working on an assignment for her Advanced Acoustical Engineering class, and Hermione was working on translating the typical greeting of every member race in the United Federation of Planets into the equivalent greeting in English. It was a rather basic assignment, given that the children in this world learned such things in elementary school with the help of a universal translator. Her fingers danced across the screen of her PADD as she input the correct answers. Alien greetings, from the smooth, almost romantic Betazoid language to hard consonants of the Denobulan language, filled the screen . . .

The assignment by itself wasn't very difficult for Hermione, as being friends with Nyota the Linguistic Genius had its perks; Hermione had memorized the necessary greetings long ago. She suspected that the assignment was more a test of her honour code than her memory, since she was expected to complete it without the aid of any technology or other sources. Hermione, ever the overachiever, had even gone for extra credit by adding nonmember greetings, like Klingon and Romulan, to the list – something else that she had learnt from Nyota . . .

"You know he's been through half the cadet corps since he got here," Nyota stated suddenly, slamming her PADD down on the table.

Hermione jumped and flicked her wrist – a quick, habitual movement that had her wand sliding into her grasp. Nyota eyed her warily, looking rather apologetic.

"Erm – sorry? Who are you talking about?" Hermione answered, lowering down her PADD. She replaced her wand into the holster hidden inside her sleeve and glanced around the room, as if trying to figure out if the person Uhura was referring to was somewhere nearby.

"You _know_ who."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Nyota's dramatic tone. "Nyota, those are the three words I'd rather never hear again in that particular order. And please, don't say 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' either, okay?"

"Oh." Nyota looked abashed for bringing up the subject. Hermione had told her bits and pieces about Voldemort and his many aliases. "I'm sorry –"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." Hermione waved her off nonchalantly with a sigh. She'd eventually have to get used to hearing those words without mentally cringing every time. "Now, who are you talking about?"

After a brief pause, Nyota clarified, looking uncomfortable, "Kirk of course. There are rumours that some of his flings weren't even humanoid."

Hermione raised an eyebrow curiously. "I didn't think you'd be interested in rumours, Nyota."

"I'm not," Nyota sighed tiredly. "But Gaila is my roommate. Need I say more?"

"Well, you know how I feel about rumours, don't you?" Hermione said, frowning. Then a mischievous smile graced her lips as she leaned forward, teasing her friend, "Which half of these cadets are you in?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny," said Nyota sarcastically, although she couldn't hide the twist of her mouth that signaled she was trying to hold back a smile. "He's not my type. Too abrasive, too self-centered, too much in love with himself."

Hermione frowned at the description as she tried to input another greeting into her PADD. "That's not the James I know."

"He's been different lately, I've noticed," Nyota conceded, looking more awkward by the moment. "He's more mature somehow. He seems to actually care about others . . . Honestly, I don't even recognize him. The other day he was helping a couple of first year cadets with their Stellar Cartography assignment and a second year cadet with his Interspecies Ethics essay." She took a moment to collect her thoughts and added, "And anyway, I prefer someone capable of a little more humility and a lot less impetuosity."

Hermione looked up from her assignment and verbally ribbed her friend with a teasing tone, "Someone like Spock?"

A flicker of something crossed Nyota's features, but she looked away to hide it before Hermione could identify it.

"Don't change the subject," Nyota said neutrally. She then turned to Hermione and continued, her tone serious, "I think it might be you. I think Kirk changed because of you."

Hermione was genuinely surprised. "Me? I assure you, Nyota, I've got nothing to do with it. People change all the time. It's called growing up. Take my fiancé, Ron, for example. He used to be the most insensitive wart I'd ever had the misfortune to meet."

They both let out a chuckle at that, Hermione's a little watery.

"He had no filter or sense of tact. He also used to talk with his mouth full of food – to my unending annoyance and disgust. But he grew up, you see. Not to say that he doesn't have his moments every now and again, but he changed. A lot. He grew up."

Hermione threw Nyota a long look, taking note of her uneasiness, and continued, "Nyota, I know you aren't the type to gossip and probably hate rumours as much as I do. So, there's got to be a reason why you are telling me all this and analyzing James' behavior. So, spill."

Nyota winced and said awkwardly, "I'm just concerned for you. You seem to spend an awful lot of time with Kirk. He goes for a run with you and Harry every morning, he meets you for lunch at the Academy Dining Hall almost every day, and he even goes to the library with you!"

"Is that not allowed somehow? We aren't doing anything wrong, Nyota."

"No, that's not it. It's just – I'm just worried about you. Given his track record, you can hardly blame me. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I appreciate your concern, Nyota. I really do. But you've got nothing to worry about. First of all, who James chooses to spend his" – she cleared her throat – "free time with is none of my, or anyone else's, business –"

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it? He's not my boyfriend," Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "And second of all, James and I are just friends. As it turns out, once his flirting boils down to simmer and you mostly ignore it, he happens to be quite nice. And brilliant. Really brilliant. You're right, we do spend quite a bit of time together. He helps Harry and I adjust to this world, we often study together, and he even helps me with my assignments. He's also an excellent tour guide. Harry and I enjoy our weekend outings immensely."

She typed in the last greeting and tapped on her PADD to save her assignment.

"Look, Nyota, I don't know what kind of man James was before I met him. I only know what he's like now. And he's nice. He's a good person with a strong moral compass, which is why I'm sure that he won't do anything to hurt me in a way that you're thinking. Besides, I'm pretty sure that he knows better than to try." She smirked a little at that.

"And I'm not saying he's without flaws, but then who is? We've all got areas to improve upon. People can and do change – especially after going through something like what happened recently. You've just admitted that he's different. Give him another chance. I'm sure you'll like him, too," Hermione finished with a smile.

Uhura sighed. "Okay. I just . . ." she trailed off, biting down on her lip. "I noticed that you stopped wearing your ring."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and said in an affronted tone, "And you thought that I was being unfaithful to Ron? I can't believe you'd think so little of me, Nyota."

She pulled out her engagement ring from where it was strung up on the same chain as her locket around her neck.

Nyota looked apologetic and opened her mouth to say something, but Hermione cut her off, "The reason why I stopped wearing the ring on my finger is because I nearly lost it several times. It won't stay on."

She traced the ring with one of her fingers and said quietly, "You know, this actually means something to me. It's not just a trinket. This means I'm committed and . . . Anyway, I wouldn't . . ."

"Hermione's, it's okay," Nyota hurried to reassure her friend. "I wasn't accusing you or anything. It was just an observation. I'm sorry if it sounded that way. Like I said, I'm worried about you and I don't trust Kirk with you. I was more worried that he'd forget you're engaged than I was about _you_ doing anything. I'm just –"

"Being a good friend and looking out for me, I know. And I thank you for that. But really, I'm not a child and am quite capable of handling myself. Like I said, James and I are just friends." She smiled, as if remembering something, and added fondly, "Besides, he makes me laugh."

Nyota observed her carefully and thought back to the first, and hardest, month that Harry and Hermione had spent in her world. They had mostly kept to themselves, making it a rarity to find one without the other. It was as if they had been afraid to let each other out of sight, for fear that one of them might somehow be suddenly snatched away from the other. Their friends from the _Enterprise_ hadn't let that deter them, and had tried their best to be understanding – offering help where it was needed and wanted, and leaving them be when necessary.

As they'd settled into things, Harry and Hermione had become more comfortable with being away from each other, and Hermione had found herself in the regular company of Jim Kirk. He had apparently put himself in the business of making Hermione's day a little brighter, and often stole her away from her busy work with a smile and laughter.

Nyota nodded slowly and said, "Okay. Just – be careful."

Hermione answered with a small nod of her own. Then Nyota leaned forward, turning her attention to the ring. It looked larger than it should. A lot larger.

"The fact that you ring won't stay on . . . Is that –?"

"Normal? No, it isn't. I don't know why it's done this. It's magical, you see. It's supposed to adjust itself to the finger of the wearer. So, until I figure out why it suddenly almost doubled in size and refuses to stay on, I'll have to keep it safe," Hermione said, tucking the ring back inside her uniform.

"You talk about your ring as if it can think for itself, as if it has feelings," Nyota asserted curiously.

"Feelings . . ." Hermione repeated thoughtfully. "Of course – feelings!"

 _Congratulations, Hermione! Way to miss the obvious!_ she berated herself.

"Hermione?" said Nyota, waving one hand in front of her friend's face to get her attention. "Are you okay? You kind of zoned out there."

"Erm, yes. Yes, I'm fine," Hermione responded distractedly, still upset with herself, thoughts racing a mile a minute. "Listen, I've finished all my assignments for now and I'd like to go do some research . . ." she trailed off, eyeing one of the unoccupied computer stations.

"You know, you can access the archives from the Long-Range Sensor Lab as well," noted Nyota with a small smile.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at her, picking up her PADD and shoving it inside her bag. "Is that an invitation?"

"It's probably going to be less busy in the lab at this hour." Nyota shrugged innocently, glancing at the library full of students. She smiled at Hermione and started collecting her things as well. "Besides, I'd appreciate the company. Remember that strange signal I picked up a couple of months ago? I just can't stop thinking about it! It's driving me crazy . . ."

* * *

Jim groaned as he was thrown onto the mat of the sparring room for the umpteenth time.

"You gotta be kidding me," he muttered. "I've underestimated you."

"Don't they teach you to never underestimate your opponent?" inquired Harry as he held out a hand to help Jim up. "Come on, Jim."

"Nah, I think I'll just stay down this time." He sprawled out his limbs like a starfish and with a lazy smirk said, "That way you won't be able to knock me down anymore."

Beyond the large viewing panel situated in the far wall, a few muffled snickers sounded and Harry turned his gaze to see that they had an audience. "Your fan club's here."

"I'm not sure it's just my fan club anymore," Jim shot back, grinning crookedly. "A lot of girls won't stop talking about this guy with 'dreamy emerald eyes and a cool scar on his forehead,'" he finished, giving him a pointed look.

"I haven't got dreamy eyes, thank you very much." Harry frowned and thought to himself. _And given the history of my scar I wouldn't necessarily call it 'cool.'_

He turned his gaze towards the viewing panel once more. At his penetrating and stern gaze, the giggling girls hastily dispersed, their curiosity sated for the time being.

"Seriously though, are you alright?" Harry asked with concern, crouching down next to Jim.

"Yeah, just peachy," Jim forced out with a grimace, struggling to sit up. Harry grabbed him by the arms and pulled him up in one fluid movement. "Ow! At least, I'm no less alright than usual. How do you do it? Does your magic make you faster?"

Harry looked at him seriously and explained. "Yeah, I've enchanted my shoes so I can move like the wind. And to throw you off-balance, I have tiny, invisible fairy helpers at my command."

"Really?" Jim asked incredulously, totally buying into Harry's explanation.

Harry burst out laughing, seeing Jim's expression. "No, I'm just messing with you. You should have seen the look on your face. It was priceless."

Jim rolled his eyes, but couldn't hold back a smile that broke out on his face.

"I can't believe I fell for that," he said, shaking his head.

"To answer your question: I'm pretty sure my agility is due to my training," commented Harry, still smiling, as he headed over to a cabinet built into the wall. "You know – being an Auror and all. Plus, I used to be a Seeker for my Quidditch team at school. And one has to have quick reflexes to be a Seeker."

"Quidditch? Is that the sport played on broomsticks?" Jim asked, marveling at how casually he could speak about flying broomsticks.

"Yeah, one of them. Hermione told you about it?" Harry inquired, retrieving a small tricorder.

Jim nodded. "You know, I'm almost tempted to not believe you when you say that your speed has nothing to do with magic. I mean, Mia nearly broke my arm the other day when I snuck up on her. She threw me to the ground faster than I could say _, 'Beam me up!'"_

"Well, serves you right," Harry smirked as he switched on the tricorder with a whirr and scanned Jim for injuries. "By now you should know better than to sneak up on her. Or on either of us for that matter."

"Paranoid much?"

"No. Just vigilant. And 'Mia'? Since when do you call her that?"

Harry nodded to himself, satisfied with the readings, then suddenly dropped the tricorder on the mat. He swept one leg under both of Jim's, making him fall backwards on the mat. Then he flipped him over, pinning both of his arms behind him.

"Ow! Dammit! What the hell was that for? It's not like I haven't spent enough time on my ass today," Jim complained, struggling to throw Harry off. "Did you have to do this too?"

Kirk, who was one of the best at the Academy when it came to hand-to-hand combat, had been more than surprised to find himself bested by Harry – who, unlike Hendorff, didn't even _look_ that intimidating at first sight. But there was a lot more to the wizard than met the eye. Obviously. Even though he had a bit less height and muscle than Jim, Harry was still fairly well-built and very agile; combining his power and speed with the right technique allowed him to regularly gain the upper hand over seemingly stronger opponents – and that was without the use of magic.

At first, influenced by his ego – which, according to Pike, was the size of the Klingon Empire – Jim had been torn between resenting Harry and respecting him. He'd decided to settle on respect. Harry was his friend, after all, and Jim wasn't above admitting to his own mistakes and learning from them. If this sparring session with Harry was anything to go by, Jim still had a lot of room for improvement.

"Constant vigilance, my friend," Harry said, relinquishing his hold on Jim and helping him sit up. "You should be prepared for this, what with your own training and all."

"I am. You just took me by surprise. And you look like you're really enjoying this," said Jim in an accusatory tone.

"Maybe a little," admitted Harry, lips twitching slightly as he suppressed a smirk.

"And do you throw all your friends around like this?" inquired Jim as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Only the ones I like," Harry grinned. "Besides, we're helping each other improve here, aren't we?"

He picked up the tricorder again, deciding to scan Jim once more - just in case.

"So, are you going to answer my question? Since when do you call her 'Mia'?"

"Since recently," Jim allowed a small grin. "She finally relented and accepted a nickname."

"No wonder," Harry looked up, unimpressed. "Some of the stuff you called her was downright ridiculous. Hermione hates nicknames, you know?"

"Yeah, I do." Jim grinned wider. "Hey, I've got a nickname for you too. How about 'Lightning Bolt'?"

Harry looked appalled. "Absolutely not. Don't even think about it," he warned him. "I _will_ hex you if you try."

Jim relented, not really wanting to put to test Harry's warning, "Okay, okay, I won't, Mr. Harry-I-can-cheerfully-kick-your-butt-to-the-moon-and-back-and-look-damn-good-doing-it-Potter."

"Wow. That was a mouthful." Harry managed to keep a straight face. "Did you come up with that just now?"

"Sure did."

"Unbelievable," Harry sighed in exasperation, switching off the tricorder. "Alright, you're fine, just a few bruises. Hermione can fix those for you in no time. Just make sure you ask nicely."

"Whatever am I going to do about my bruised ego, though?"

"I'm sure you'll get over it," responded Harry, clapping Jim on the shoulder and then standing up. He walked over to the medical cabinet, and replaced the tricorder before snapping the door shut. "We should probably call it a day."

"You sure? I'm good to go again," Jim said, standing up and brushing himself off.

"I know. But I have to meet Hermione for more researching."

"Any progress yet?"

"No," was Harry's short response and Jim knew he should change the subject.

As they headed towards the corner of the room where their bags were, Jim tried to surprise-attack Harry.

The wizard blocked him and grinned. "Nice try."

"Oh, come on! Do you have eyes on the back of your head or something?" Jim asked in astonishment.

Harry laughed. "No. I just knew you'd try something like this."

"You know, I couldn't believe it when Pike told me that you'd been moved from Basic Hand-to-Hand to Intermediate to Advanced in a matter of – what? Two months?"

"Something like that."

"You know, most people train for a lot longer than that to get to that level."

Harry shrugged. "I've had previous training."

"And damn good training, it would seem," commented Jim, impressed. "So, you're going to the library?"

As if on cue, Harry's communicator chimed with a message alert. He automatically retrieved it and flipped it open.

"Apparently not. Hermione's in the Long-Range Sensor Lab with Nyota. I guess I'll go there."

"Mind if I join you?"

Harry quirked one eyebrow at him. "Was that a real question?"

"No, I guess not," chuckled Jim.

Just before they reached the doors, Harry stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Kirk. "Look, I want to know what your intentions towards Hermione are."

Taken aback by the sudden change of subject, Jim stumbled backwards. "Wh-what? I – you – why – how . . ." he sputtered.

"She's brilliant and all, but even she misses things, especially when she's preoccupied," Harry explained coolly, his wand dropping from its sleeve-holster to land in his hand. "That's when it's my job to notice things for her. You're a _very_ good actor, but it's obvious to me, and I reckon to everyone else around the two of you. I see the way you look at her, especially when you think she isn't looking. And your eyes nearly burn a hole through me every time I put my arms around her shoulders, or squeeze her hand, or give her a hug. I know you like her. And as more than just a friend."

"Whoa! Look, Harry, I –"

Harry raised one hand to silence Jim. "You don't have to explain anything to me. It's really none of my business. But Hermione's happiness and well-being _is_. And let me tell you – I take my role as her honorary brother _very_ seriously."

"Wait, are you threatening me?" asked Jim incredulously.

"Yes, I am," responded Harry with an even tone, casually twirling his wand between his fingers.

Jim swallowed, eyeing the wand and its owner. "I – I'm pretty sure there's no need for that, Harry. She doesn't see me as anything more than her friend. And she's engaged to someone else who she loves very much."

"True," Harry agreed. "Hermione is loyal to a fault. She doesn't easily give up on those she loves. And Ron's one lucky bloke to have stolen her heart. However, that being said, I have to be realistic . . . If we can't go back, she'll eventually have to let Ron go and . . . Who knows? After all, love sometimes creeps up on people unexpectedly. She might feel the same about you."

Jim let out a bitter, cynical laugh. "Yeah. Right. What are the chances of that?"

Harry shrugged. "She admires your brilliance. She thinks you're a genius."

"She does?" Jim asked skeptically. Hermione never said anything of the sort to his face.

Harry nodded. "And in her book that means a lot. Even more than that, she thinks you're a good person. Besides, she seems happier around you. I don't think even Ron made her laugh as much as you do."

Jim allowed a small smile, but then his face turned serious. "You know, she's – she's actually the first female friend I've ever had. The first girl who could see the real me, who bothered to see past my looks, my history, my bravado, my last name . . . And I – I really don't want to lose that. Ever."

Harry looked thoughtful and said slowly, "Well, that's something you'll have to figure out on your own. Like I said – none of my business. Whatever happens, I'm not going to interfere with any of her choices. I love and respect her, and I think that she's a sensible and rational person who can choose well for herself."

He paused and analyzed Jim for a few silent moments, making Jim slightly uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. "She's all I've got here. And I know that she is fully capable of handling _any_ situation by herself – but as long as I'm alive and kicking, I will _always_ be there for her, and _anyone_ who hurts her will have to deal with me. Are we clear?"

Jim, at a loss for a response to something like that, merely nodded. "Crystal."

"Good." Harry smiled amiably, as though he hadn't just threatened the man in front of him, and clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Just whatever you do, don't hurt her."

"I won't," Jim promised solemnly.

"Let's get going then."

* * *

The Long-Range Sensor Lab was indeed less busy than the library. In fact, it was surprisingly empty, and Nyota and Hermione were able to sit side-by-side as they worked at their separate terminals.

Nyota pulled up the information she'd been working on for two months and turned to Hermione, handing her a small earpiece. "Here, listen to this."

"Nyota, you know you're better at this than I am –" started Hermione.

"Please, I just want to know what you think. A second opinion could be useful."

"Alright," conceded Hermione, accepting the earpiece.

Nyota pressed a few buttons on the terminal and played the message she'd picked up a couple of months ago. Hermione listened carefully, her brow furrowed.

"Play that again, please," she requested when hearing the recording once didn't seem enough.

After listening to the audio fragment five more times, Hermione was able to make out the following static-filled message, " _…. …dddday. Thissss … Cap… …shir of the … sss …cules. To any… … hear thissss … smission, we are … need …mediate assss…nce. Ressss… over._ "

"Well," said Hermione, removing the earpiece and meeting Nyota's expectant gaze, "I can't say I got much out of this, but I'm pretty sure that someone needs immediate assistance, right?" she asked uncertainly.

Nyota smiled. "You have a better ear than you realize. I've had several people listen to that recording and all they got was static. I was actually starting to think that I might have heard something wrong or was really starting to go crazy."

She shook her head, feeling silly for second-guessing herself. "Are you sure you don't want to become a communications officer?"

"Thank you, Nyota, you are too kind. But I'm sure that it's not a career I'd like to pursue."

Nyota nodded. "Anyway, to answer your question - yes, I think it's a distress call. And I'm pretty sure it's from the _U.S.S. Hercules_. But with all that distortion . . . There's got to be a way to filter it all out. But I've tried everything I know and this is the best I could manage."

"Why don't you ask someone to help you?" Hermione suggested. "I'm sure Spock would know exactly what to do."

To her chagrin, Nyota felt tears rush to her eyes.

Hermione gave her friend a concerned look and asked, "What's wrong, Nyota?"

"It's just . . . Well, Spock and I decided to take a little time apart to sort out what we want. Ever since . . ." She swallowed hard and blinked, determined not to cry.

Hermione reached for Uhura's hand to give it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, Nyota. I didn't know."

Nyota waved her off with her free hand, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's fine. You couldn't have known."

She nibbled on her bottom lip, contemplating something. "Can I – can I talk to you about something?"

Hermione let go of Nyota's hand, turned to fully face her, and said softly, "Of course. You can talk to me about anything."

"I'm afraid," admitted Nyota, also turning to face her friend.

"Of what?"

"That I can't reach him anymore. That he'll leave without a word."

"He wouldn't do that."

Nyota gave her a humourless smile. "I'm not so sure. I mean, he almost left Starfleet after . . . Well, right after we got back home. I still don't know what changed his mind, but he was ready to leave with the colonists. And ever since, he's been different. Distant. Like I don't matter – like I'm in the way."

Hermione looked at her friend sympathetically and said gently, "Give it time. You have to be patient. The loss of a planet full of telepaths probably made quite an impact on the survivors – beyond even what could normally be expected from such a tragedy."

"I know that!" Nyota defended. "And I _am_ patient, but Spock isn't making it easy. No matter what I do, he doesn't respond. I offer to listen, but he won't talk; I talk, but he won't listen. I've tried everything, but I just can't reach him! I don't know what else to do." She threw up her arms in exasperation.

"Maybe," said Hermione softly, gazing into her friend's eyes, "just maybe – you are trying too hard."

"What do you mean?" asked Nyota, genuinely confused.

"Well, you said that you've tried to listen."

"I have!"

"And you've tried to talk."

"But he doesn't seem to hear anything I say!"

"Then maybe you just need to _be._ "

"What?" Nyota inquired, puzzled, thinking that she might have heard her wrong.

Hermione took a deep breath and explained. "This thing that's happened – it's terrible, heinous, and utterly awful. I know that you know Vulcans feel deeply. But I've actually experienced it, if only a very small portion of it – on the _Enterprise_ , right after Spock lost his planet. He touched my hand by accident and, because his mental shields were down, it initiated a sort of short-lived mind-meld. For a brief moment I felt what he felt, and his feelings were so intense – they were paralyzing, suffocating, like drowning in the ocean with wave after relentless wave pressing down on you."

She shook her head as if trying to clear the memory of that event. "This type of loss and immense grief – you can't just hurry up how someone deals with it all."

Nyota stared at her, wide-eyed, for a moment before she said quietly, "I know that. I'm just trying to – I just want to help . . ."

"Nyota, you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. I think that in this case, the harder you try, the further you'll push him away. Which is why you might need to stop trying and just _be._ If it means being where he is, fine. If it means going down separate roads, maybe that's fine too. It might not be what you want, but it might be what has to happen. There are some things that we cannot change. We simply have to accept them."

Hermione smiled sadly. "I've thought about it a lot, you see. Ever since we got here. And that's the conclusion I've come to."

"I – I think I understand what you're trying to say," Nyota said uncertainly. "Is that what you're doing, regarding your fiancé?"

Hermione nodded, pulling out her ring once more and allowing it to slide back and forth along its golden chain.

"I know I might have to let him go," she said quietly. "I know that I can't change where I am right now, as much as I want to. And I know that I might have to accept that – perhaps better sooner than later, for the sake of my own sanity . . . I mean, it hasn't been that long, but our research isn't going anywhere, and I'm starting to get a little discouraged . . ." she admitted, looking down and feeling annoyed with herself.

She looked up at her friend again and said, "You asked me earlier about my ring, and observed that it behaves as if it has feelings. Well, it does – sort of. You see, Ron enchanted it using the knowledge of the branch of magic that studies Love."

"Love?" Nyota asked in astonishment. "Love is a branch of magic?"

Hermione gave her a small smile and nodded. "It's one of the oldest and strongest kinds of magic. Anyway, I think the ring slipping off has to do with the enchantments he used. I wish he'd had the time to explain everything to me, but . . . I have a feeling that something might have gone wrong."

"Like what?"

"I'm not certain," Hermione responded, eyeing the ring. "Maybe it's the length of time that we spent in different dimensions, or maybe something happened to his wand, or maybe something happened to him."

She shuddered, pushing those thoughts away.

"I just know that without this working properly . . ." Hermione shook her head, unable to finish the sentence.

Nyota reached for her hand and squeezed it, silently conveying her support.

Hermione met her eyes, giving her a forced smile, and shifted the conversation back to the original topic. She pointed to the screen. "Anyway, back to the task at hand. The transmission. I can see that this is important to you. So why don't you ask someone other than Spock to help you with it? James, for example?"

"Ask me to help with what?" inquired Jim, walking through the doors of the lab with Harry.

After greetings had been exchanged, Nyota explained things to Kirk, "I picked up this audio fragment a couple of months ago. Right now, I'm trying to trace it back to its source, as well as filter out all the distortions. Any ideas?"

"What is it?" inquired Jim, looking over the information on the screen.

"I think it's a distress call," said Nyota. "From the _U.S.S. Hercules_."

" _Hercules_?" Jim echoed in puzzlement. "The ship that disappeared without a trace almost a hundred years ago?"

"Yes, exactly. You've obviously been paying attention during our History of the Federation classes," noted Uhura, smirking.

Jim rolled his eyes. "C'mon, are you kidding me? With Professor Glorak as our instructor, how can I _not_ pay attention in class?"

From what Jim had told them, Harry and Hermione knew that the Tellarite Professor Glorak was rather passionate about the subject he taught, and did not tolerate anyone sleeping or not paying attention during his classes.

"Everyone knows that the _Hercules_ disappeared a century ago," Jim explained, seeing Harry and Hermione's questioning looks. "The only clue Starfleet has is a snippet of a distress call, but they couldn't pinpoint its location of origin."

He turned to Uhura, "I imagine that's the snippet that you've picked up. The question is: why did you pick it up _now,_ after all this time?"

"I don't know. That's why I can't stop thinking about it. Can you trace it back to its source?" Nyota inquired hopefully.

"Hmmm, let's see," said Jim, sliding into a chair next to her and tapping on the screen. "Maybe you could focus on the variance in the frequency contours of the strongest sonic points in the transmission. Have you been able to listen to the whole thing?"

"Yes, but there are far too many distortions," said Nyota. "It's very hard to understand what's being said. And it's driving me mad."

Jim gave her a small smile. "Well, let's get to work then, shall we?"

While Jim and Nyota began their self-appointed task, Harry and Hermione seated themselves a few terminals down from their friends – in order not to interfere with whatever they were doing – and worked on their research. Harry scoured the archives for any mention of a planet that, based on what they saw in their dreams, matched the description of the Violet Planet (a nickname they'd come up with for the mysterious magical dream-lady's planet); Hermione looked into the area of theoretical physics for possible ways to get them back home.

A few hours passed before Jim spoke up, attracting the attention of Harry and Hermione, "Okay, I think we're getting close."

"Where did you learn how to do this? It's way beyond the skill level of an average cadet," noted Nyota, impressed.

Jim grinned in response. "But I'm not an average cadet, am I?"

Hermione came to stand by his shoulder and lightly flicked him on the ear. "If you showed a little humbleness once in a while, you'd be golden, James."

"Where's the fun in that?" Jim turned and smiled at her in a way that made most girls swoon.

Hermione Granger, however, wasn't 'most girls.' Jim had realized that the moment he met her. She merely raised a quizzical eyebrow and stared at him. Couldn't blame a guy for trying, though.

Nyota nudged him with her elbow, trying to bring his attention back to the screen.

Jim complied, trying not to show his disappointment. "Right, um, sorry. I learnt it mostly here, at the Academy. But I also picked up quite a bit from my brother. He's always been very interested in science." There were a few moments of silence when everyone watched him work. "Okay, so here's the transmission. I was able to filter out most of the distortions."

He pressed a few buttons, playing the audio fragment on the speaker, " _Mayday. Mayddddday. Thisssss … Captain Bashir of the Hercules. To anyone who can hear thissss … smission, we are in need of immmmmediate assistance. Respond, over._ "

Harry, who'd stood to look over Nyota's shoulder, was the first to break the contemplative silence. "Well, it's a distress call, alright."

"Where is it coming from?" inquired Nyota, snapping out of her reverie. She was still having a hard time believing that Kirk had actually been able to get rid of most of the recording's distortions.

"Give me a sec," said Jim, his hands flying across the terminal as he worked. "Okay, I've finished analyzing the vector of the signal. I can't give you a precise location, but I've narrowed it down to this region of space," he finished, pointing to his screen.

Hermione placed one hand on Jim's shoulder and leaned closer to the screen, squinting at the space beneath the map that had popped up to read the small print that proclaimed the subsector's number. "Subsector 2713-1884 within sector 008, also known as the Ophiucus sector," she read.

Her face was mere inches away from Jim's. His heart rate accelerated and his breath caught in his throat as the scent of roses tickled his nose. She was close enough that he'd only have to turn his head to –

She continued, completely oblivious, "Has two star systems: Alpha Dardania and Phylos. Either of them ring a bell?"

Jim swallowed as he focused his full attention on the screen in an attempt to regulate his heart rate, and managed to keep his tone even as he replied, "Uh – well, I've heard of Alpha Dardania, but not Phylos."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully in response and pulled away, removing her hand. Jim was simultaneously disappointed at the loss of contact and relieved that he was now less likely do something spectacularly stupid.

Beside him, Uhura was still staring at the screen. "I can't believe you actually did it, Kirk," she said in awe. "I've been working on this for about two months and haven't made half the progress you just did!"

Hermione affectionately ruffled Jim's honey-blond hair and smiled slightly at Nyota, "I told you he's brilliant."

"Hey!" protested Jim, trying smooth down his hair, but he couldn't stop a wide grin spreading across his face at the praise.

Harry slid into a chair on Nyota's other side and switched on the terminal.

"Alright, Phylos," he said, typing: _Information request: Phylos star system._ "Let's see what we can find out about you in the archives."

A few moments later, his console beeped and a message lit up, ' _Access denied.'_

"What?" Nyota asked in confusion, leaning closer to his screen. "Why would the archives block a simple information request on a star system?" She turned to her own terminal and began to type. "Let's see what we can find on Alpha Dardania."

Within seconds, all the information appeared before them.

"Alpha Dardania is a binary star system with twelve planets in it," Nyota read, scrolling through the information. "Two Class H, four Class J, two Class K, and three – Class T. Only Alpha Dardania XII is a Class M planet."

"And it has a human colony on it," commented Harry, also reading from Nyota's screen.

"It looks like this star system is very well explored," concluded Nyota.

"Not surprising," agreed Jim, "given its proximity to the Sol system. Relatively speaking. The _Hercules_ ' crew was one of the first to set out on an exploratory mission, and then they just vanished. I think we can safely assume that they didn't disappear in Alpha Dardania – which leaves us with the Phylos system."

"But the archives are blocking all the information on it," Nyota said in frustration.

"Exactly." Jim furrowed his brow. "There's something fishy about this whole thing. Starfleet said that they couldn't ascertain the _Hercules_ ' location, but I just proved that's complete bullshit. Then we find the sector of space where the signal's coming from, and the archives block the information request. It looks to me that there's something going on here that they don't want people to know," he concluded.

Hermione hummed in agreement. "Well, when you put it that way . . . I mean, usually if an area of space is quarantined, they don't hide it, do they?" She looked to Jim for confirmation, before continuing, "So, what's so special about this Phylos star system? Why hide all information about it?"

"Well, that's a great question, isn't it?" Kirk replied, looking each of them in the eye.

"Are we gonna answer it?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Beta Love: **_Insanity-Red_** , _**QueenVulca**_.

* * *

Chapter 19

 ** _May 25, 2258 –_** **_San Francisco, California, Earth_**

A familiar crack of Apparition announced Harry's arrival at the lab. Hermione spared him a quick glance from where she was working on a project.

"Hey, Harry," she greeted.

"Hey," Harry responded, his tone slightly impatient and somewhat breathless from running about in his search for her. "Would you care to explain why you're still here?"

Hermione took a moment to respond, continuing to mutter spells under her breath and wave her wand in intricate patterns. "And why wouldn't I be? It's Thursday, and this is where I usually am on Thursday evenings."

Harry walked over to the corner of the room where she was standing and gave her a long look.

"Right. Thursday," he said, his tone unimpressed.

He turned his gaze toward what she was working on – a slab of what looked like glass – and remarked, "This is new." He gave it a knock. "Is this – is this transparent aluminum?"

"Yes. It was just delivered here today."

When it came to her experiments, it seemed that Starfleet was willing to promptly provide her with anything and everything – no matter how odd or ridiculous her requests were.

"And why are you carving runes into it?"

She finished engraving the latest rune with her wand and met Harry's questioning gaze. "Well, I've been thinking about what Ambassador Spock said when we met him. You know, about us ending up on the _Enterprise_ because of it's warp field and so on."

"Yeah?"

"Didn't you ever ask yourself why we ended up in front of that view screen? Why not somewhere in a cargo bay, or in Engineering, or the Medbay, or anywhere else for that matter? Why on the Bridge – or more specifically, why in front of the ship's largest piece of transparent aluminum?"

Harry crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. "Do you think that has some kind of significance? Couldn't it be just a random thing?"

"That's entirely possible," Hermione agreed. "But I had a hunch that maybe it wasn't just a coincidence. And some of these runes . . . I keep seeing them in my dreams. Then an idea came to me, so I decided to test it out."

Harry sighed. "Why am I getting flashbacks to Tom Riddle's diary?" he said in a disapproving tone.

Hermione took a step towards Harry and placed a hand on his arm.

"It's not like that, Harry. I promise you," she assured him. "If I had to compare it to one of our previous experiences, it would be more like . . . being under the influence of Felix Felicis."

"You didn't happen to have any luck potion in that bloody beaded bag of yours, did you?" Harry asked somewhat hopefully.

"No, I didn't," Hermione sighed. "But trust me on this, okay?"

He studied her face for a few moments before he relented, "Fine. Just . . . be careful."

She smiled softly at him. "Of course. I always am."

A light blue vapour began to rise from the cauldron in another corner of the lab, attracting Harry's attention; correction – a light blue vapour that was starting to turn grey.

"I'm not so sure. I think that potion of yours is about to explode."

"Oh no! How could I have forgotten?!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified at herself. She made to hurry towards the cauldron, but Harry stopped her.

"I've got it," he said, crossing the room in a few long strides. He waved his wand as he walked, conjuring up a comfortable-looking armchair. "Just do me a favour, Hermione, and go and sit down without doing anything for the next ten minutes. I'll finish this, but you need a break – especially if you've forgotten something like a brewing potion."

While Hermione might have usually argued against being made to stop working, she recognized the sense of his words. She did as she was told, sighing slightly as she sank into the cushions of the chair.

Harry stood over the cauldron, stirring the potion seven times counterclockwise and five times clockwise, all the while muttering incantations under his breath. He added the final ingredient and glanced over at Hermione's desk as he continued to stir. It was covered in paper and PADDs, full of her Arithmancy calculations and runes – and the pile only seemed to increase every time he stepped foot in the lab.

"You know, Hermione," he started, looking at her with concern, "what you're doing isn't healthy. If you keep this up, you're going to kill yourself."

Hermione, who had automatically closed her eyes and tilted her head back out of sheer tiredness, responded in a tone that suggested she thought Harry was being overly dramatic, "Harry –"

"No, I'm serious!" Harry insisted. "You can't work non-stop. You need to take breaks. Do something different. Have a little fun. You were the one who said that we should make the most of our time here."

"I _am_ having fun!" she protested, opening her eyes and meeting his gaze.

Harry rolled his eyes and said, smiling, "Only you, Hermione Granger, would find being stuck in a _library_ for hours on end to be _fun_."

But his tone turned serious again, "Look, I know you don't fancy playing sports, but there are other things you could do."

For example, Scotty and Chekov had recently introduced him to the game of Parrises Squares, and Harry found it to be rather entertaining. Pretty much anything that could avert his attention from the particulars of their situation served as a good way for him to blow off some steam and relieve stress.

Harry took a moment to consider his next words. "Hermione, have you considered joining the Chorale Ensemble? I'm sure Nyota could put in a good word for you, since she's the vice-president."

Hermione looked at him as if he'd just suggested that she should try to make a pet out of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. She burst out laughing.

"Me? In the Chorale Ensemble?" She managed to sputter out as she continued to laugh.

"What? Why is it so funny?" asked Harry in puzzlement. "You've got a nice voice. I heard you sing in the kitchen just yesterday, when it was your turn to make breakfast."

Hermione groaned and flushed in embarrassment, covering her face with the palm of her hand. "I thought you were still asleep."

Harry flashed her a smile. "Well, your wonderful singing woke me up. And it really was wonderful. So don't stop. Not on my account anyway. It's good to see you happy enough to sing."

He finished up with the potion and extinguished the flames. With a series of wand-waves, he filled the empty phials, corked them, placed a stasis charm on them, and sent them all into the prepared box which would be taken to the technicians who were in charge of the _Kobayashi Maru_ test.

Then Harry walked over to Hermione and conjured a chair to face hers. He sat, and took hold of one of her hands.

"Anyway, we got a bit sidetracked, but the reason I came here looking for you is that today is _Friday_ , not Thursday. We're supposed to meet our friends at that new bar" – he glanced at the chronometer on the wall – "ten minutes ago."

Hermione dragged her other hand down her face and sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry. I lost track of time."

"Obviously," Harry commented dryly. He grabbed her other hand as well and gave it a squeeze. "Look, Hermione. You are _the most_ hard-working person I've ever known, and I am well aware of how much effort you've put into not only preparing for the Academy life, but also trying to find a way to get us back. That being said, I love you and don't want to lose you under any circumstances – certainly not because of some stupid lab accident that _might_ happen because you are too damn _tired_ to pay proper attention!"

Harry almost felt like shaking her slightly to make her understand. The mere thought of losing Hermione – both his best friend and the last thread that tied him to his home universe – sent a shock of stomach-twisting panic through him. He felt afraid.

The fear of being alone came from a time in Harry's life when he had not yet had words. It was his first memory. In some ways, it was the most powerful memory he had – it was the fear that had defined the first ten years of his life, and seemed to be inescapably rooted in his subconscious.

Most recently, it came at him like a thunderclap on a sunny day – a strange, cold terror situated somewhere between desperation and loneliness. Sometimes it would jolt him awake in the middle of the night, in place of the nightmares that had miraculously ceased. It sent tremors down his skin and overwhelmed him, blurring the barrier between reality and imagination.

All of the relationships Harry had built throughout the years with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Hagrid, the rest of the Weasleys, and his other dear friends had kept that fear at bay. But now – thrust into an entirely different universe, forcibly cut off from all but one of those relationships – his fear had seemingly returned with a vengeance. It may have even grown stronger, now that he knew what it was like to love and be loved in return.

Every time the fear awoke him, Harry would get up and make sure that Hermione was still there in the next room, sleeping peacefully. He would stand there outside her door, and listen to her soft, even breathing, and a sense of relief would flood through him. In a way, he felt like a parent checking on his newborn baby, making sure that his child was safe. Or maybe _he_ felt more like a child, reassuring himself that there was still someone to help him fight the monsters in his closet.

Hermione was his sister in everything but blood. She was the one person he could trust _implicitly_ in this new place, the one person he could discuss almost any subject – magic-related or not – with and the one person who truly understood him, often without him having to utter a single word. He simply _could not_ lose her too. It may have been an exaggeration, but Harry was almost certain that he wouldn't be able to function if he lost her. He had not been lying in his fifth year when he said that the help he'd received from his friends was the only reason he had escaped Voldemort so many times. The only reason he'd survived the War was because he'd never truly been alone – not during the Horcrux hunt, not in Malfoy Manor, not even in the Forbidden Forest when he had gone to meet his death.

Certainly, he did know people in this new universe, and even considered some of them his friends – but his relationship with them wasn't the same as the one he had with Hermione. Perhaps it never would be, but only time would tell. The only reason Harry hadn't sunk into an abyss of despair was because Hermione was with him. And he imagined the same was true for her. She had pretty much told him so – if not through words, then through the look on her face when she thought no one was watching her.

Harry took a deep breath and slowly let it out, getting his emotions under control like Hermione had been teaching him during their Occlumency lessons. His gaze boring into hers, he said gently, "What I'm trying to say is this: if finding a way back means that you nearly kill yourself in the process, then I don't want to go back. Your life and well-being are more important to me. We are in this _together,_ and we will go back _together_ – or not at all. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes tearing up. "Harry, I . . ." she trailed off, rendered speechless by his heartfelt words.

"Come here," Harry said, pulling her in for an embrace.

"Do you promise to be more careful?" he asked, holding onto her tightly.

"I promise," she mumbled into his shoulder.

Trying to lighten the mood, Harry said in a less serious tone, "Besides, can you imagine what Ron would do to me if I somehow managed to get back without you?" His attempt at levity fell short almost immediately, and his face turned somber. "He would never forgive me. _I_ would never forgive myself."

"I'm sure that's not true," she said quietly.

Harry pulled away and stared at her. He wasn't quite sure exactly which part of his statement Hermione was referring to, but he challenged her objection anyway.

"Isn't it?"

Not wanting to talk about it anymore, Hermione sighed and changed the subject.

"Harry, I realize now that I've made a terribly stupid mistake. I shouldn't have been brewing that potion today while being distracted by that," she waved her hand at the piece of transparent aluminum. "But I've got a good feeling about it. It may or may not work, but . . ." she trailed off, jumping to her feet.

She grabbed one of Harry's hands and led him towards the slab of transparent aluminum.

"I know I've said beforehand that I didn't recognize any of the runes in my dreams, but upon closer examination, I realized that I was mistaken. See these?" – she pointed out a couple of carved runes – "I've seen them before in one of the very old books in the Department of Mysteries. It was missing multiple pages, but the book mentioned the possibility of creating magical 'wormholes' of sorts. Well, they weren't exactly referred to as such – they were called portals, gateways . . . I don't know if the person writing the book even knew exactly what they were talking about –"

"How?" Harry interrupted her rambling. "Was it specified _how_ to create one of those portals, gateways, wormholes – whatever?"

Hermione shook her head. "I suspect that the relevant knowledge would be on those missing pages. It's either lost, or is being carefully guarded. After all, it can be dangerous."

"No shite," was his sardonic response.

Hermione pressed her lips in a firm line in disapproval at his usage of colourful language, but didn't comment on it.

He sighed. "All right. What can I do to help?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Well, you can go over my notes and help me figure out this spell . . ." she trailed off, turning towards her desk and wandlessly summoning her notes. " _Accio!_ "

A few sheets of paper gently floated through the air into her waiting hand. It wasn't as quick a journey across the room as it would have been had she used her wand, but Harry was pleased to note that her skill with wandless magic improved every day.

"All right," Harry agreed, accepting the notes that Hermione handed to him. "But we aren't doing this right now."

"And why not?" questioned Hermione, confused.

Harry glanced meaningfully at the chronometer.

"Oh, right."

"Or we could just go back to the flat and call it a night? I could message Jim . . ." he suggested, pulling out his communicator.

Hermione shook her head. "No, don't do that. We said we'd be there."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

* * *

Starfleet Academy life was grueling.

Weeks of rigorous, unending study. Physical and mental training that no mere sport could prepare one for. Brutal hours in the tactical simulators, followed by debriefing sessions filled with failure analysis. And then there was the competition – the finest minds and bodies in the entire galaxy, pitted against one another daily, hourly.

It took a toll.

As such, Starfleet cadets regularly needed to blow off some steam.

Hazelnut Street in San Francisco was a favourite hangout. James Kirk, Leonard McCoy, a Tellarite cadet named Trumble, and a Xannon cadet named Braxim all strolled down Hazelnut Street, looking for the holo-karaoke bar called the 'Delta Quadrant' that had just opened. Kirk wasn't a big fan of karaoke, especially the newer version that let you sing your song surrounded by holographic projections of the original artists. But Kirk liked female cadets – and one in particular – so meeting her there was an acceptable trade-off, tactically speaking.

As Kirk strolled into the club, he scoped out the room with the expert gaze of a habitual party-goer. Within moments, his eyes settled on Uhura, sitting at a corner table with the red-haired and green-skinned Gaila. Jim frowned as he continued scanning the bar, not finding the one girl he'd been hoping to see.

He turned to his companions and instructed, "Gentlemen, lock your targets."

"Right," confirmed McCoy, eyeing a voluptuous blonde woman at the bar stand. "Every man for himself."

"Standard rules of engagement?" asked Trumble.

"Correct, Mr. Trumble," replied Kirk with a smirk.

"Rendezvous here at 2200 hours," instructed Braxim.

"But Mr. Braxim, that's curfew!" pointed out Trumble with a mock-scandalized gasp.

"Good point, Mr. Trumble," Braxim nodded. "Make it 2155."

McCoy smirked, "That's only if no one goes missing in action."

"Right. Thrusters on full," said Braxim and headed straight for a group of giggling female cadets at one of the tables.

Kirk watched his companions disappear into the sea of red uniforms and civilian clothes before he joined them in moving across the room like a man on a mission. He passed the club stage where a wobbly, white-haired Andorian girl (looking ridiculous in her neon green dress and striped, yellow-black tights) was making a happy fool of herself singing an ancient Lady Gaga song. She blew Kirk a kiss as he passed. Jim smiled in response, but kept on walking.

As Kirk approached Uhura, he could see that she looked rather uncomfortable. Next to her, Gaila loudly ordered another drink that she clearly didn't need.

"Hello, ladies!" Kirk said brightly.

"Jim Kirk!" shrieked Gaila as she pointed at him. "It's Jim Kirk!"

"Yes, I can see that," Uhura stated calmly, nodding at Kirk in a way of greeting.

"He's so hot!" Gaila whisper-yelled at Uhura and then exploded into a honking laugh that sounded like alarmed waterfowl rising from a lake. The sound was so frightening that Jim nearly backed away.

"Wow," said Kirk. "That's – um – weird."

"S'my birthday," slurred Gaila.

Jim watched Nyota roll her eyes at this comment and asked in puzzlement, "Really? But your birthday was in December, wasn't it?"

Gaila either didn't hear him or chose to ignore his comment. She attempted to lean seductively towards Kirk and almost fell off her stool.

"Do you have a gift for me, Jim?" She grabbed a handful of his jacket and pulled him towards herself, trying to put her arms around his neck. "Is it in your pocket?" One of her hands slid down towards his pants.

"Whoa!" Jim practically jumped away from her as if he had been burned. "Let's not do that, okay?"

"Why not? Aren't you happy to see me?" Gaila pouted, managing to lower herself safely back onto her stool.

Uhura, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, sighed and buried her face in her hands.

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Gaila turned her attention to the passing waitress and waved wildly at her.

"One more!" she screamed over the music. "Right here! Green drink for the green girl!" she pointed at herself, laughing hysterically.

The waitress approached them and said, "I already got your order, hon. But are you sure you want it?"

"I think it's a poor decision, Gaila," remarked Nyota.

"Excellent!" said Gaila. "I'm excellent!" She looked up at Kirk and tried to wink at him, but it came out as more of a frightening grimace than a seductive wink.

"I can see that," noted Jim dryly.

"You're a little _too_ excellent, Gaila," commented Uhura.

Nearby, the bartender slid a slushy, green drink onto the service stand. As the waitress hustled off to snag it, Gaila suddenly slid off her stool with a loud "Whooops!" and started giggling uncontrollably. Several people at nearby tables turned to look at her.

"Wow, you are _really_ hammered, aren't you?" said Kirk, helping her back onto her stool.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed and then flung her arms tightly around his neck.

Kirk fruitlessly tried to unlock himself from her death grip, giving Nyota a look that said _'Help me.'_

Uhura looked exasperated, the expression on her face a mixture between Kirk's and _'How exactly did I get myself into this situation?'_

Trying to distract Gaila so that Kirk could peel the Orion away from her stranglehold on him, she said, "Gaila, I think we should head back to campus."

"No! I don't want to!" Gaila howled just as Kirk managed to step away from her. She proceeded to make eyes at the Denobulan male sitting at a nearby table.

Kirk decided to take the matter into his hands and shot off the intercept the cocktail waitress. As he would find out later on, it was a poor command decision on his part.

"I've got this," he said, dropping money on her tray, snagging the drink, and downing it in one go. It burned going down and left a nauseatingly sweet aftertaste.

The waitress looked at him, alarmed. "Are you sure –"

"I'm sure, thank you," Kirk said quickly and headed back towards Uhura and Gaila.

When Jim returned to the table, Nyota was still trying to convince Gaila to go back to campus. Somewhere mid-conversation, the Orion girl abruptly jumped to her feet and staggered off to the restroom.

"I really hate to interrupt your evening, but I need some help, Kirk," said Nyota, rubbing her forehead. "Do you think you could help me drag Gaila to the Cedar Street hover stop? It's only a couple of blocks away."

"Sure," agreed Kirk somewhat reluctantly.

He'd really wanted to see Hermione tonight, since he hadn't seen her for two days. For the last several days or so, she'd begun to spend all of her time outside of training and study sessions in her lab. Jim took a moment to wonder why it suddenly felt wrong to not see her every day.

He mentally shrugged it off and turned his focus to Uhura. "But how are you gonna get her back to the dorm all by yourself? Orion girls can be _really . . ._ unruly. Trust me, I know."

Nyota gave him a look that said, _'I don't want to know the details'_ and sighed. "I'm still trying to figure that part out." As loud and annoying Gaila could be sometimes, she still was Nyota's friend. Uhura felt responsible for her – she couldn't simply walk away.

Nyota started after Gaila, Kirk following closely behind.

"I could help you get her all the way to your dorm room," he offered graciously.

Nyota stopped near the door to the restroom. "But you just got here, didn't you? I'd hate to pull you away from all your potential dates for too long," she teased.

Kirk shrugged his shoulders and grunted, scanning the crowd. Uhura gave him a knowing look.

Feeling her gaze on him, Jim turned back to Nyota. "What?" he asked somewhat defensively.

"Nothing," Nyota replied quickly.

Giving his head a shake, he inquired, "Did you – uh – happen to see Mia or Harry here?"

"No, I haven't seen them at all today."

Jim furrowed his brow. "They're supposed to be here now."

"I know. I was hoping to see them too. They might be just running late," Nyota said, glancing at the bar's chronometer.

"They're usually pretty punctual," countered Kirk.

"Maybe they got held up?"

Nyota's eyes fell on the entrance door and saw a bald, muscular Orion male and his friend standing there, scanning the crowd. The Orion spotted Uhura and began to head towards her.

"Damn. Kai's here," she said, feeling slightly alarmed. "Someone must have alerted him about Gaila's . . . current state."

"Who's Kai?" queried Jim, turning to Uhura.

"Gaila's brother," she explained patiently. "You didn't know?"

"Uh . . ." was the best Kirk could come up with as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Uhura raised an eyebrow in a very Spock-like manner and crossed her arms. "Really? You had a relationship with someone and you didn't even know she had a brother at the Academy?"

Kirk grew uncomfortable. He really didn't feel like explaining to Uhura that his 'relationship' with Gaila hadn't entailed anything much beyond casual sex. He was saved from answering when Gaila staggered out of the restroom.

"Kai!" she exclaimed, spotting her brother.

Kai looked very unimpressed with his sister and seemed to be barely hiding his irritation. "I'm taking you back to campus," he said without any preamble. Then he put one arm around her waist, and started guiding her towards the exit.

"I better go with them, in case they need any help. Say 'Hi' to Hermione and Harry for me if they do show up."

With that, Nyota left as well, leaving Kirk to stand alone by the women's restroom. He sighed and decided to get a drink.

Twenty minutes later, a tired-looking Hermione and somewhat disheveled Harry finally showed up in the bar. They found Kirk having a conversation with Chekov.

"You guys took your sweet time getting here," noted Kirk, his gaze resting on Hermione as he patted the empty seat next to him.

"Sorry, Jim," replied Harry, sliding in a chair next to Chekov. "Would have been here earlier if Hermione didn't forget it was Friday or almost blow up the lab," he finished, poking fun at his friend good-naturedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and sat down with a sigh. She gave Harry a mischievous smirk and said, "We also got held up when Harry got jumped by this Orion girl right in front of the Sciences Building –"

"Gah! What a nightmare!" said Harry in exasperation as he ran a hand through his already untidy hair. "She just came out of nowhere and started telling me something about how we're destined to be together because the colour of her skin matches the colour of my eyes. What a load of rubbish!"

Jim and Pavel snickered, Hermione tried hard to contain a giggle that was threatening to bubble out.

"It's not funny!" Harry snapped, giving them all a glare.

Hermione tried to school her features. "You've still got a bit of lipstick on you," she pointed out in an even tone.

Revolted, Harry furiously rubbed at his cheek in an attempt to remove the offending smudge.

"Why didn't you say something sooner? Is it gone now? Hermione, get it off! Scourgify it or something," he pleaded, leaning towards her across the table.

Hermione leaned closer as well, and magicked the lipstick away wandlessly, making it look to any outside observer as if she were simply caressing Harry's cheek. Then she reached up and attempted to smooth down his hair, which was sticking up in every direction, as per usual.

"Harry, your hair is such a mess," she said, smiling at him fondly.

As Kirk observed their interaction, he felt a strange ache grow in the pit of his stomach that he immediately dismissed as the result of that weird green cocktail he'd ingested earlier. He glanced at Chekov, who seemed to be watching him curiously. Kirk looked down at his drink, suddenly finding it very interesting.

Harry shot a wry grin at his best friend. "Leave it, Hermione. You know it's useless."

She complied, and Harry slumped back in his chair with a sigh.

"Merlin, do you have any idea how strong those Orion women are?" Jim nodded sympathetically in understanding. "It was like trying to fight my way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare. And then she goes and screams for me to take her right there on the lawn in front of the Sciences Building – with at least thirty people watching. I seriously considered doing something I wasn't supposed to, witnesses or not."

He gestured subtly to the place on his forearm where his wand was holstered.

"I don't think she was quite herself, Harry," Hermione interjected diplomatically. "I've met her before in the library, and she seemed to be quite nice, actually. But today there was something . . . off about her."

"If you say so," responded Harry, not entirely convinced. "I just hope she doesn't do _that_ again."

"How vere you able to resist her?" Chekov inquired with the curiosity of a scientist. "Orion females produce pheromones zat make it difficult for most males to resist zem, especially when zey are actively trying to seduce zem."

Harry looked horrified at the thought of losing control, being seduced by some alien woman, and unintentionally cheating on Ginny. "I don't know, but I'm happy that I did resist."

He gave his head a shake as if trying to get rid of the awful thought.

Jim, sensing that Harry really wanted a change of subject, came to his rescue, "Where's Scotty? Isn't he supposed to be here as well?"

Harry looked noticeably happier as he responded, "He got his orders this morning to report to Starbase 1 to help with the repairs on the _Enterprise_. He's probably sweet-talking the new warp core right now," he finished, chuckling.

Jim grinned. "And getting his hands on the _Enterprise_ 's 'ample nacelles' again," he supplied, remembering his first encounter with the engineer on Delta Vega.

The waitress showed up to take their order and once she was gone, Chekov asked happily, "Oh, vould you like to hear about my team's last Zero G Football game?"

They fell into an easy conversation, moving through various topics that ranged from Zero G Football and Parrises Squares to upcoming exams and classes. Chekov, who had recently turned eighteen and was only just legal to drink, seemed to be enjoying himself and rambled all the more excitedly as he drank more . . .

Out of nowhere, a somewhat inebriated-looking Andorian male pulled up a chair next to Hermione and leaned towards her, his blue antennae bobbing around slowly.

"Would you like to sssing with me, beautiful?" he slurred, smiling in what could be a seductive way had he not been so completely sloshed. He tilted his head towards the club stage, his antennae swiveling in the same direction.

Then he draped one of his arms around Hermione's shoulders.

It was a _colossal_ mistake on his part.

In a flash, Hermione jumped to her feet, simultaneously throwing off the offending appendage. Never letting go of his arm, she twisted it around and held it tightly behind his back with one hand. With her other hand, she pushed his head down against the table, one of his antennae pressing against the surface. The Andorian groaned in pain. A few people at the nearby tables threw curious looks in Hermione's direction, and her companions looked ready to jump in if she required any assistance.

"Listen to me very carefully, whoever you are," she hissed venomously, bending down to speak into his other antenna. "Touch me again, and I _will_ hit your antennae."

The alien's eyes widened comically in fear – one of the characteristics of an Andorian's antennae was their sensitivity to pain. A hit to them was comparable to a Human getting kicked in the groin.

"Is that clear?"

"Y-yes," the alien managed to gasp out.

Hermione let go of him and frowned sternly. "Wonderful," she said stiffly. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

With that, she retook her seat beside Kirk and pretended the Andorian didn't exist.

The Andorian stared at her for a few moments as he rubbed his arm and then his antenna.

"Feisty. I like that," he smirked, noticeably more sober for the flash of pain.

One of his eyes twitched in what appeared to be a wink, and his never-still antennae were almost flat – they looked like two blue, stubby fingers pointing directly at Hermione. He seemed to have no intention of leaving, for he sat down beside her again.

"What d'you want, Shev?" asked Jim in irritation, shooting the alien a contemptuous glare.

"Why so unfriendly, _Jimmy_?" Shev taunted, one of his antenna shooting straight up and the other turning to point at Kirk.

"You know each other?" asked Harry, his gaze flicking from Jim to Shev.

"Unfortunately," confirmed Jim, speaking through gritted teeth.

"I'm Shev, the bluest Andorian at the Academy," Shev introduced himself proudly. He turned to Hermione. "Sorry, sugar. I should have introduced myself first. So how about it? Will you go and sing with me?"

"I thought my answer was loud and clear," she answered tightly without even turning to look at him.

"Just one song?" Shev persisted. The guy didn't seem to take no for an answer. Or maybe the alcohol was clouding his judgement. "As you humans say _'Pretty please? With a cherry on top?' "_

He leaned closer, one of his eyes twitching again. "Or I could offer you more than a cherry on top."

Nope, this guy definitely didn't seem to learn from his mistakes.

That, or he had a death wish.

"Hey, mind your manners!" warned Harry in a dangerous tone.

At the same time, Kirk curled a protective arm around the back of Hermione's chair, and bit out, "Back off, Shev."

"Relax, all of you," Shev smirked, meeting everyone's eyes in turn, his antennae swiveling around. "That was a joke. No need to get your nacelles in a twist."

"You should leave," Chekov interjected.

"I can handle this," Hermione spoke up, her tone holding a note of warning as she threw a glare at her friends. They knew she was a highly independent person and she'd be insulted by any implication of the contrary.

Hermione turned to Shev, hoping to avoid creating a big scene – or worse, a fight. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't sing," she said in a calm, but icy voice, hoping that he would finally get the message and leave.

"But –" started Shev.

"The lady clearly said no. Now, if you would just shove off," said Kirk angrily, making to stand up, but Hermione placed one hand on his knee, shooting him a fierce glare that dared him to lash out at the Andorian.

But she'd chosen to restrain the wrong friend.

"Do you have hearing problems, you tosser?" asked Harry, green eyes blazing as he stood and instinctively reached for his wand. "Shall I clean out your antennae for you?"

"Harry, no!" Hermione exclaimed in alarm, jumping to her feet. "Please, don't!"

One of her hands remained to hold Kirk back, though it moved to his shoulder. With two overprotective hotheads around, things threatened to get really ugly, really quickly.

Harry reluctantly replaced his wand and gave the Andorian a murderous glare. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave right now. Last warning."

After all, Harry didn't need his wand to take care of business – which he would gladly do, right there and then.

"A stick? Really? Is that the best you can do, moonbeam?" Shev shot a challenging smirk at Harry. "Are you going to poke me with it?"

He turned back to Hermione, once again trying to put his arms around her. "So, babydoll, what –"

Shev didn't get to finish his sentence, as in that moment there was a satisfying crunch, and his head jerked backwards. Hermione's fist had connected solidly with his nose.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N. Hello, everyone! It's been awhile, I know. I've been working with my new beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , who had graciously agreed to put her talents to helping me improve this story and my writing. For that, I am immeasurably grateful. Also thanks to **_QueenVulca_** for her support and enthusiasm. Readers like you make writing so much more fun.

Hope you enjoy :)

 **Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

* * *

Chapter 20

Shev's hands flew towards his face as blue blood trickled down his nose. Jim and Pavel leapt to their feet in a millisecond.

Hermione breathed heavily, her cheeks red with anger.

"I've had enough of you! You had your warning," she said shrilly, ignoring the pain in her hand. "Leave! Now!"

Pavel, who had never seen this side of Hermione before, watched the scene with wide eyes. Harry merely smirked, and Jim looked disappointed that he had not been the one to throw a punch at Shev's smug face. Several onlookers gaped at the scene, and an undercurrent of hissing spread through the room as others began to whisper between themselves.

A large, heavy hand suddenly clamped onto one of Shev's shoulders, and a booming voice somewhere behind him said, "Is there a problem here?"

 _Well, damn. If it isn't Cupcake_ , Jim thought in disbelief, eyeing the tall, burly cadet. _This_ _sure brings back memories._

"Not at all, Greg," Hermione responded calmly – more calmly than she felt – and smiled tightly at Hendorff as she cradled her fist. "Shev was just leaving. Isn't that right, Shev?"

"Yeah. See you around," the Andorian managed, turning to leave.

Shev didn't make it very far before something invisible caught him around the ankles. He fell spectacularly, skidding along on his front until he was brought to a halt by his head colliding with someone's feet.

"Harry!" Hermione admonished half-heartedly.

"What? I didn't do anything," Harry responded innocently.

Hermione leaned towards him and whispered, a hint of amusement in her voice, "I can recognize a Tripping Jinx when I see one."

Besides, she knew that Harry had no problem casting a Tripping Jinx wandlessly – after all, she had been on the receiving end of it a couple of times during their dueling sessions.

Harry merely gave her a mischievous smile.

"You should have let us handle the Andorian," said Hendorff, indicating himself and her three companions who nodded in agreement.

"If the circumstances were different, I might have considered that option. But as you can see, this place is packed tonight. I didn't want anyone getting caught in the . . . crossfire. If one of you had started a fight with him, it definitely would have escalated. This place would have become a battleground. I merely estimated that he has the common male mindset that makes him less likely to continue a physical altercation should a woman be the one to start it."

"Yeah, but there was still the chance that he'd hit you back anyway," countered Jim. "You never know with drunk people."

"That was always a possibility. But the likelihood of it was much lower that it would have been, had one of you punched him instead. Especially since a bar-wide scuffle would have threatened to drag me into things anyway. Besides, I was prepared for any retaliation. Spock has taught me a couple of _Suus Mahna_ moves," Hermione explained, and then added, her tone slightly chiding, "I'm not a damsel in distress, you know."

Hendorff nodded. "Of course, we know you're quite capable. But you shouldn't have to deal with idiots like that when you have friends around," he told her firmly, puffing out his chest. He shot her a smirk, "That was a mean right hook, by the way."

Hermione rubbed her knuckles and gave him a small smile. "Thanks. I think I nearly broke my hand, but it was worth it – maybe now he'll learn to keep his hands to himself. And I do have a good teacher," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Hendorff smiled back and held her gaze for a moment before turning to her companions. "Well, if everything's okay, I'll see you all later then."

His eyes cut to Hermione again. "See you Monday. 1300 hours."

Hermione mock saluted him. "Yes, sir."

Hendorff nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

Jim threw a long look after Cupcake as the group of friends settled down once more. Harry began to animatedly recount to Pavel the incident when Hermione had punched out Draco Malfoy. The woman herself retook her seat, rubbing at her knuckles and muttering something under her breath. Jim turned to face her.

"Will you come and dance with me?" Jim asked her suddenly.

"Erm . . . Sorry?" Hermione asked, surprised.

Jim repeated himself with a soft, hopeful smile, "Dance with me?"

Hermione glanced out toward the dance floor. It was occupied by a few slow-dancing couples, moving in rhythm to the singing of an Arcturian cadet who had taken the stage.

Hermione's eyes flicked uncertainly between Kirk, the singer, the dance floor, and then to Harry, who was watching the exchange with deliberate neutrality. "Well, I was just thinking that it might be a good idea for us all to head back . . ."

"Just this one dance and then we'll go, yeah?" Jim said, offering her his hand.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded in response, and she hesitantly grasped his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Jim's smile widened, but before he could lead her away from the table, she stopped him.

"Are you feeling alright, James?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing slightly as she examined him.

Kirk nodded again. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

Hermione couldn't quite place it, but there was something about him that felt . . . off.

"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "It's probably nothing."

She gave her head a small shake, and Jim pulled her away from the table.

Jim led her to the edge of the dance floor, his hand lightly dropping to her waist as one of hers settled on his shoulder. He grasped her other hand – the one that she had punched Shev with – and examined it.

"You okay? Your hand isn't injured?" he asked in concern.

"Yeah. It's fine."

"Does it hurt?" One of his fingers stroke over her knuckles absently.

"Not anymore," she chuckled lightly and looked down at their joined hands. "I suppose it's true that Andorians have higher bone density than Humans. There was a small fracture, but I've already taken care of it."

He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss over her knuckles. She gave him a questioning, almost uncertain look.

"What? I can't kiss my friend's hand better?" he responded innocently, a charming smile on his face.

She laughed, her eyes crinkling with mirth, "You're sweet, James – but _really_. I'm not a child who needs her boo-boos kissed away."

"I _know_ you aren't. Not with the kind of punch you threw at that sucker." As he spoke, his mood noticeably darkened. "I'm gonna kill that idiot," he finished flatly, looking away from her as a quiet fury began to creep onto his face.

"No. Please, don't do that," Hermione said, any sign of her amusement quickly replaced by worry as she searched his face.

"James, look at me," she ordered gently.

He reluctantly complied, staring down at her and trying to control his emotions.

"Promise me you'll leave him alone. I'm pretty sure he learned his lesson, and I doubt he'll try anything again. Even if he does, I can deal with it myself. Trust me when I say that I have very _effective_ ways of handling the situation _without_ getting my hands dirty." She gave him a meaningful look, making him abruptly remember the few times when this girl had frankly terrified him. "So promise me you won't do anything stupid."

She looked at him with inquiring, beseeching eyes – eyes like pools of warm chocolate that he felt like falling into – and he couldn't help but acquiesce.

"Okay. I promise," he murmured.

Satisfied with his answer, she gave him a soft smile. "Thank you."

They were silent for a few heartbeats, and then he couldn't help but ask, "So, how do you know Lieutenant Cupcake?"

One of her eyebrows shot up.

"Who?" she asked, perplexed and mildly amused.

"Hendorff," he clarified.

"Oh. Well, he was on the _Enterprise_ with all of you when we . . . er . . . got here, wasn't he?"

Kirk furrowed his brow. "Well, yeah – but you called him _Greg_. How well do you know him?"

"Well enough to call him by his first name, I suppose," replied Hermione, shrugging her shoulders. "He's been teaching me hand-to-hand combat for the last week or so. Usually Spock does, but he was asked to temporarily fill in for Professor Gill's classes. Why do you ask?"

Jim subconsciously tightened his hold on her lower back, pulling her a little closer.

"So, Spock arranged for Cupcake to teach you?" he asked evenly.

That odd ache grew at the pit of his stomach once more, and he suddenly felt angry with both Spock and Hendorff. He suppressed the irrational surge of emotion and masked it with indifference.

"Why didn't he ask me? I'm an assistant instructor too," he asked with an insincerely light-hearted tone.

"I don't know," she shrugged again, eyeing him curiously. "Perhaps it's because you usually have a class at 1300 hours and Greg doesn't?"

She began to look concerned. "James, are you alright? You look kind of –"

"I'm fine," he brushed her off, his irritation seeping into his voice.

Almost immediately after, he took a wrong step and stumbled. If Hermione hadn't been holding onto him, he would have fallen over.

"No, you are _not_ fine, James."

She reached up and placed a hand on one of his cheeks, looking him over as he sighed in relief from the coolness of her skin. His face was a lot warmer than it should have been, and paler too, covered with a sheen of sweat that glistened under the bar's low lighting. She looked him in the eyes, and found them slightly glazed over.

Hermione was sure that he hadn't looked like this just a few moments ago. Wondering where the sudden onset of negative symptoms had come from – and berating herself for not noticing his decline sooner – she moved her hand to his forehead, only to frown in consternation.

"James, I think you might have fever."

Kirk managed to nod through a throbbing headache that had come out of nowhere. His breathing became heavy, and he felt his heart begin to thump wildly – he wasn't sure whether it was because of his irrational anger towards Cupcake and Spock, his current physical condition, or the proximity of the girl who had occupied many of his thoughts of late. Trying to settle himself, he managed to relax his shoulders.

 _That does it. I'm never drinking that green crap again,_ Jim promised himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal of acoustical feedback. Everyone in the bar slapped their hands over their ears, and Kirk nearly fell over again. Hermione was able to steady him on time, and Jim felt the now-familiar tingling sensation that he'd come to associate with her magic.

"Let's get you out of here, okay?" she told Jim, carefully guiding him towards the exit.

As they passed the club stage, they saw Chekov fiddling with the karaoke controls in an attempt to fix a minor malfunction with the sound, while Harry was trying to prevent a cadet (who was still attempting to sing a song from the band 'Runaway Neutrinos') from plummeting off the stage. The cadet – a humanoid with a head resembling that of a gigantic ant – had clearly drank a little too much. His voice was slurring, and his balance wobbled as he fought to remain on the edge of the stage. Thankfully, Harry's reflexes were quick enough that he was able to catch the cadet when he inevitably took a nosedive.

"Blin ***** ," said Chekov, hastily moving towards them. "Harry, zat's my roommate. Do you think you could help me take him back, please?"

"Of course," replied Harry, hauling the cadet onto his feet and throwing one of his arms over his shoulder.

Chekov jumped off the stage and did the same on the other side. Together they headed towards the exit, following Jim and Hermione.

"Stahl K'Bentayr," the inebriated cadet introduced himself, turning to Harry. "Formal greetings."

"Harry Potter," Harry nodded in response.

"How vas your evening, Stahl?" inquired Pavel once they were outside.

"It was . . . It was . . . outstanding," Stahl responded, his face breaking into what could be a smile.

"I can see that," remarked Harry dryly.

"Harry Potter is being sarcastic. I am liking sarcasm."

"Congratulations."

Stahl looked at Harry in confusion and asked, "Why did you congratulate me?"

Harry sighed. "Just forget it."

That seemed to be a good enough answer for Stahl. "I'm walking down the street now with Pavel and Harry Potter," he announced happily.

"Yep, you are. Except it's more like you're being dragged," corrected Harry, and heard Pavel snicker on the other side of the alien.

In front of them, Jim let out a yelp as he tripped over his own feet. He nearly smashed head-first against the pavement, but Hermione, with a little wandless magic, was able to catch him at the last moment. She helped him into a sitting position.

"I – uh – thanks," Jim muttered, somewhat abashed.

"Don't mention it," she replied, crouching beside him. "James, talk to me. Tell me exactly how you're feeling so that I can help you."

"I'm fine."

He waved a dismissive hand at her, looking anything but fine. As his hand passed close to his face, he held it out and analyzed it, as if seeing more than one hand there. He gave his head a slight shake, but the motion only made him dizzier. His condition only seemed to worsen by the minute; in fact, he felt nearly as bad as he had after McCoy injected him with that vaccine to get him on board the _Enterprise_ not so long ago.

"Mia, could you – uh – get Bones for me?" Kirk managed to rasp out, pointing at the nearby tree.

Hermione assumed that he'd meant to aim at the bar.

"Well, Leonard seemed a little busy," she responded tightly. "I guess you'll have to make do with me."

Jim, still well enough to detect the tone of her voice, hurried to soothe any offended feelings. "No, no, no, no. Mia, I'm not . . . insinuating that – that you aren't capable of – of . . . Look, I'm not questioning your abilities, okay?"

"Then what is it?"

"I just don't want you to see me like this," he mumbled, looking down. "I might throw up on you or something."

Hermione sighed, the tone of her voice softening, "James, I'm a trained healer. Vomit is not even close to the worst of what I've seen. So don't you worry about throwing up, okay?"

She rested her hands on his shoulders as she spoke, the gesture somehow making him feel a little better. "Let's just get you back home. You've got an appointment with your bed."

She rose, pulling him up after her.

Behind them, Stahl observed matter-of-factly, "Cadet James Kirk tripped over something and fell. A female cadet is helping him up."

"We can see what's happening, Stahl," pointed out Harry, slightly exasperated. "There's no need to tell us."

The sloshed alien seemed to have a compulsion to describe _every single thing_ that happened around them.

"Stahl iz Monchezkin," explained Pavel. "He can't help it, Harry. Monchezkins don't usually communicate wocally. The whole talking thing iz relatively new to him."

"Pavel is explaining how my species communicates."

"Oh. Er – he's not a telepath, is he?" questioned Harry with concern, attempting to raise his Occlumency shields. His lessons with Hermione were going rather well, but he still had some trouble on occasion, and his mental shields weren't yet as strong as he'd like them to be.

Chekov laughed. "No. Zeir species shares an electro-chemical hivemind. Your dirty secrets are safe," he finished, joking.

Harry rolled his eyes at the Russian. "Right. Thanks. Good to know."

As the trio caught up with Jim and Hermione, she said, "Harry, I'm going to get James back to his dorm and look after him. You just go and help Pavel."

Harry eyed his best friend, and then Kirk, who towered over her.

"You sure you'll make it with such a heavy load?" he asked skeptically.

Hermione gave him a look that said, ' _I'm a witch, aren't I?'_

"Yes, I'm sure," she responded firmly.

"Okay. Just don't try and Apparate with him in this condition. He looks like he might toss his cookies any moment," observed Harry in concern.

"I like cookies!" interjected Stahl happily. "Can I have some?"

"Trust me, mate, you don't want _those_ cookies." Harry turned towards Chekov with an eyebrow raised in amusement, "I guess you forgot to mention that their species also takes everything literally?"

Pavel merely grinned in response.

"I would appreciate it if you could stop talking about food right now," Kirk grunted out.

"Let's go, James," Hermione instructed, leading him towards the hover bus stop. "We're not very far."

"And what is Apparate?" asked Stahl curiously.

"Nothing you should be concerned about, my friend," said Pavel. "Come on. Let's go."

"No! I want cookies!" Stahl dug in his heels and refused to move. "Bakery!"

"Mate, I'm pretty sure all the bakeries are closed at this hour," Harry responded, trying to pull Stahl after him – but the alien didn't move. Despite his slender build, Stahl seemed to weigh a ton – or at least had the sticking power of an object of similar weight. Appearances were deceptive, indeed.

"No, actually, zere is a 24-hour bakery just a couple of blocks avay," remarked Pavel apologetically.

Stahl enthusiastically nodded in agreement.

"Great," groaned Harry, giving Pavel a look that said, ' _Do we really have to?'_

"Please?" As per usual, Chekov was sweet and polite in a way that made him difficult to refuse. "He von't calm down othervise."

Not wanting to subject his young friend to a drunken, agitated roommate, Harry sighed in resignation and turned to Stahl. "Oh, fine. Let's go get some _cookies_. Better make it quick, though. It's curfew soon," he added, quickly glancing at his watch.

As the trio turned towards the bakery, Harry called after his best friend, "I'll see you soon, Hermione."

She sent him a wave over her free shoulder.

The hover bus arrived promptly, and Hermione and Jim carefully made their way inside.

"I don't feel right," Jim stated the obvious, his voice strained but whiny as he collapsed onto a seat. "This isn't how I pictured my evening would end."

"Any idea what could have caused this?" inquired Hermione, sitting down beside him. "Your sudden unwellness, I mean."

"Uh – well – I'm not 100% sure."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and lowered his head into his hands. Hermione gently rubbed soothing circles across his back.

"It could be that green cocktail Gaila ordered. The waitress did look at me kinda weird when I drank it. Now that I think about it, it might've been something I've heard about before – this weird Orion drink that's supposed to be slow-acting or something. Looks like it finally kicked in and didn't quite agree with me."

She hummed thoughtfully and proceeded to bombard him with other questions regarding how he was feeling, hoping to determine the best method of treatment for after she delivered him to his dorm.

A few minutes later, with the help of a little magic, Kirk was safely in his room. Hermione carefully lowered him onto his bed, propping him up in a half-sitting position and placing a pillow behind his head. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, and opened her locket to retrieve the beaded bag that held everything she needed to take care of her current patient. Next, she waved her wand at the opening of the bag, summoning her medkit and a couple of potions. Another wave of her wand, and all of the items neatly arranged themselves on Kirk's bedside table.

First things first, she had to take care of his fever. And given just how hot his temperature had gotten, she had to do it fast. Finding the right hypo, she gently pressed it against his neck.

"Uh, Mia?" Jim murmured, while Hermione was busy waving her wand at him and muttering spells under her breath. "I don't know if Bones told you, but I'm allergic –"

"I know all the meds you're allergic to, James," she interrupted sternly. "And hydroprovalene isn't one of them."

Jim didn't know whether he should feel surprised or pleased. "You do? Know about my allergies?"

"Well, yes. Why the tone of surprise? I may have never administered a hypo to you before, since Leonard usually does that, but considering all the _situations_ you manage to get yourself into . . ." she said, her tone a cross between disapproval and amusement.

In three months that she'd known him, Kirk had managed to dislocate his shoulder twice, sprain an ankle four times, and break several ribs . . . And that wasn't even counting all the scrapes and bruises he regularly acquired during his training.

"Honestly, you're worse than Harry. Anyway, Leonard and I thought that we'd have a better chance at keeping you alive between the two of us."

"Thank you," he said sincerely, wondering what in the galaxy he did to deserve such amazing friends.

Hermione merely gave him a gentle smile and continued muttering spells. With every wave of her wand, he felt better.

Jim reached out for her open locket and looked at the pictures inside. The ache in the pit of his stomach returned at the sight of them.

"Sweetheart, am I hallucinating?" he asked, keeping his voice even and squinting. "I could swear that those pictures are moving."

She kept her expression neutral, avoiding his gaze as she carefully extracted her locket from his hands and tucked it back inside her shirt.

"That's because they _are_ moving. They're magical, James."

"Oh."

She reached for one of her potions. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life," he replied earnestly.

"Then drink this," she said, handing him a vial of light-purple liquid.

He didn't hesitate and downed it in one go, just as Hermione started saying, "Fair warning, it tastes –"

"Argh! That was awful!" exclaimed Kirk, one hand flying to his mouth.

He was sure that he was about to puke, but nothing happened.

"I know, sorry," she said as she rubbed his forearm. "But it'll help settle your stomach. You'll feel better in a few minutes. This one next," she instructed, handing him a vial of clear liquid.

Jim hesitated slightly, but drank it down as well. "Well, that wasn't so bad. Why didn't you give me this one first?"

"Because there's a certain order to these things," she explained patiently. "Do you still feel dizzy? Double vision? Seeing any spots?"

"Uh, yeah. Still kinda dizzy," he admitted, his stomach already feeling much better.

"I'm going to give you some vertazine. 5 ccs should do it."

She prepared the hypo and gently pressed it against Jim's neck.

He stared at her in amazement. "You know, I barely feel your hypos."

"Good. That's the intent." Hermione smiled softly at him. "I'm not trying to torture you, you know."

She leaned closer and started removing his jacket, leaving his shirt on – and that intoxicating smell of roses tickled his nose again.

"I like where this is going," Jim blurted out before he could stop himself, a goofy grin spreading across his handsome face.

"Mind out of the gutter, James," she told him sternly as she removed his shoes and set them at the foot of his bed.

"Now, lie down properly. You're going to get some sleep," she ordered, fixing his pillow for him.

"I like it when you get all bossy with me, sweetheart."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Well, at least I know you're feeling better if you're already flirting." She pulled the blanket over him, but paused, blinking as something she'd heard finally hit her. "And 'sweetheart'? Do you still have fever, James? I was certain I'd taken care of it."

He merely grinned in response, and Hermione pulled out the tricorder to scan him – just to make sure.

Jim stared at her and, to his own horror, suddenly blurted out, "You know something, angel? I – I really – I . . ." he forcefully stopped himself before he could continue and make a complete fool of himself.

 _Shut up!_ he snarled at himself. _You're gonna lose yourself a good friend if you do this!_

Instead he said, "Um – I – I trust you."

 _Congratulations, Jim. Very smooth,_ said a very Bones-like voice somewhere in the back of his head.

"I thought we'd already established that," she responded distractedly, her gaze flicking between him and the tricorder, lightly nodding to herself as she took in the readings.

"I mean, like _really_ trust you," he pressed on. "Like jumping off a cliff, calling up in the middle of the night, drinking one of your weird concoctions" – he chuckled at that – "no questions asked. That kinda trust. And I know that it might be odd, or silly, or _illogical_ even to place these levels of trust on someone I've known for only a few months, but I feel like I've known you for a lot longer. I know, it sounds weird, but it's the truth . . . I've told you about my hopes, my dreams, my goals, my ambitions, fears, and doubts. Maybe not all of them, not yet – but I've been vulnerable with you, and you never judged me, or took advantage of me. Not once. And I _know_ that you'd never stab me in the back, or gossip, or . . . And I'm rambling again, and probably not making much sense, but . . . I _trust_ you. I just want you . . . No, I _need_ you to know that."

Hermione, somewhat taken aback by his unexpected and heartfelt words, looked at him with a searching gaze. For one, terrible moment, Jim thought that he might have said something he wasn't supposed to. There was a long moment that seemed to last an eternity, but then she answered him.

"I trust you too, you know," she said sincerely.

His nervous tension melted away, and he said, sounding more astonished than he felt, "You do?"

"Again with that tone of surprise," she chuckled lightly. "How can I not? After everything you've done for Harry and me . . ."

Then she added, her tone teasing, "Although, I might hesitate a bit before jumping off a cliff. You know how I feel about heights."

Jim let out a soft laugh, before turning serious again. "I can help you overcome that fear – if you let me."

"Harry and Ron have been trying for years, and I've gotten better, I think. I don't know if you can do much more."

"We'll see about that," Jim said cockily.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Arrogant," she said smiling and giving her head a shake.

Hermione turned her attention back to the tricorder. Then, remembering his earlier words, she looked up and quirked an eyebrow.

"And by the way – 'angel'? What, 'sweetheart' wasn't enough? I'm 'angel' now? You, James Kirk, are an exceptional flirt."

She switched off the tricorder and put it away.

"Oh, baby, I'm the best," Jim shot back in a slightly husky voice.

Hermione met his eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of a strange expression that she had never seen on his face before. She recognized the emotion, but she never dreamed she'd see it coming from someone like Kirk. She nearly dropped her wand in surprise.

 _Impossible. I'm probably just seeing things,_ she decided, writing it off as a result of her exhaustion.

Hermione disguised her shock with a tight smile and lightly patted him on the cheek. "Even the best needs to rest, _darling_ ," she said sarcastically.

Jim let out a chuckle and said, "Sometimes you remind me of Bones."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied without missing a beat. "I happen to think that Leonard is a great person to know."

"Can't argue with you there."

She waved her wand, coaxing all of her things back into her beaded bag. A few moments later, she met his eyes and analyzed his expression. He didn't seem to be in any discomfort any longer.

"Well, my work here is done," she said, gathering up her bag. "Now it's bed time."

Hermione made to stand up, but Jim snatched one of her hands and cradled it to his chest.

"No, wait! Don't go just yet," he said, somewhat alarmed.

Wanting nothing more than to go back to the flat and get some sleep, Hermione attempted to pry her hand out of his grip. "James –"

"Please. Just stay for a bit longer."

Hermione hesitated, her gaze searching his, trying to figure him out.

"I know you're tired," Jim continued, "and probably the last thing you wanna do right now is be here, and it's really selfish of me to keep you, but . . . I need you . . . to stay for a few more minutes. I just don't want to be alone right now."

The tone of his voice made her heart ache.

"Nightmares?" she whispered.

"Sometimes," he admitted, and Hermione caught a glimpse of a vulnerability that she hadn't seen in him since they had conversed on the _Enterprise_ during the journey back to Earth after defeating Nero.

"All right," Hermione agreed, adjusting herself on the edge of his bed. "Lights: 20%," she commanded, and the lights in the room dimmed.

Her free hand reached up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. It was longer than it had been when she'd first met him, and a touch more gold.

"That felt really nice," he murmured.

"Can I have my hand back now? I promise I won't leave."

"Nope, not letting it go," he said, grinning. "You can even lie down next to me, if you want."

"Alright, that's quite enough, James," Hermione said tiredly, her expression turning hard. "I can handle only so much of your flirting at any given time – even if the medication is at fault for it."

"Okay, got it," Jim said quickly. "I'll behave. Still keeping your hand though," he finished, grinning.

As she gazed into his eyes, she noticed his mask – his bravado – slip away to be replaced by something that resembled a combination of fear and pain. Hermione sighed, her expression softening as she placed her wand on Jim's bedside table and then moved her free hand over both of his.

"Anything you want to talk about?" she asked softly.

"Nothing that I haven't already told you," Jim murmured back.

"It's alright, I don't mind. Sometimes you have to tackle a problem multiple times before finding resolution."

 _And this is one of the many reasons why I really like you, Mia._

He gave her a long look and said, his smile reaching his eyes, "Have I told you you'd make a great counselor?"

"Many times. I'm starting to think that you might have some kind of a hidden agenda or something," she asserted, quirking an eyebrow.

"Wouldn't be hidden if I told you, would it?" Jim shot back conspiratorially.

Hermione chuckled lightly. "No, I suppose not."

* * *

A/N. ***** Blin – in Russian literally means 'a crepe.' However, it's also used in colloquial as a generic interjection similar to 'darn.'

I know last few chapters have been relatively slow, but they are necessary to set things up for the future. Hope you don't mind.

Thank you for reading!

Kind regards,

V


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , who finds time in her busy schedule to help me out.

* * *

Chapter 21

 _ **June 5, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth**_

"So, let me get this straight – you admire him?" Hermione asked incredulously, her face scandalized.

Hermione and Jim were in the library yet again. Somehow their conversation, which had started off with a simple equation, had taken a dramatic turn.

"That's not what I said," defended Jim.

"You said, and I quote: ' _It was amazing for one man to rule such a large part of the Earth.'_ That sounds to me like you admire him, James; and the tone of voice you used suggests that my assumption is correct."

He sighed, slumping back in his chair. "I guess I admire his ability, yes."

That damn quizzical eyebrow went up again – she had definitely been spending too much time with Spock.

"His ability to kill and enslave millions of people?" she queried in an even tone.

"That's not it!" Jim's voice rose slightly in volume.

He glanced around apologetically at a few people nearby and continued in a softer voice, "I wasn't judging the morality of what he did. Just the sheer ability he must have had to accomplish it."

"But weren't his accomplishments as a leader directly related to his own lack of morality?" Hermione pressed on. "A certain mindset of superiority that facilitated the oppression of his subjects?"

"I – I guess so, yes," Jim conceded in exasperation.

"And yet you still admire him," she said, her tone accusing. "James, admiring Khan Noonien Singh is like admiring Hitler, or Voldemort – or even Nero, for Merlin's sake!"

"I admire the railroad of the old American West," he countered. "It was an amazing piece of engineering and planning for such a primitive time, and directly led to the future prosperity of the United States. Yet its construction was only possible through the use of slave labour, and its importance to capitalists led to the near genocide of the Native Americans. But I still admire the railroad."

She gave him a long look and said quietly, "Perhaps you shouldn't. It sounds like the cost was too high."

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms – an effort that didn't go unappreciated by Jim. He swallowed, his gaze briefly resting on her chest.

"That type of mentality," Hermione continued, oblivious, "where the ends justify the means is _wrong_. No one's rights _can_ or _should_ be secured by the violation of the rights of others."

The point she was trying to make was something that Jim wouldn't fully understand until much later.

"Mia, you're being an idealist," Jim shot back. "Life is _never_ black and white. It really depends on the circumstance. Sometimes the ends _do_ justify the means."

"Do they?" she challenged, her cheeks flushing with frustration.

Jim could practically hear the cogs of her brain churning as she came up with new arguments. This could go on forever, he realized, suddenly feeling very tired.

It wasn't rare for Jim and Hermione to have intellectual debates like this one. In fact, they often found themselves completely losing track of time as they discussed various subjects – anything and everything, from the design of warp cores and deflector dishes, to less precise topics like philosophy, ethics, and history. As in this case, one subject often led to another, and they'd go on and on until one of them drove the other into a metaphorical corner.

Jim had come to know Hermione well enough that he could tell she wouldn't cede the point this time – but neither would he.

Knowing full-well that Jim might also have a point, but unwilling to drop her argument due to her past experiences with would-be world-rulers, she continued to speak with some agitation, "Please, James, for the love of Merlin, _do not_ try to tell me that certain atrocities are acceptable if they contribute to 'the greater good.' "

"Okay," Jim conceded, raising a placating hand in hopes of not having to rehash that particular topic. "I'll avoid bringing up 'the greater good' around you."

Hermione huffed and crossed her legs under the table. From his vantage point, Jim could see the hem of her uniform skirt riding up slightly, and the room suddenly felt too hot.

He almost didn't hear her as she continued, "No one is prescient enough to apply this – this _utilitarian_ sort of ethics without creating unintended consequences. Just look at . . ."

Jim's gaze travelled down to her lips. They were a beautiful, deep shade of rose, even without any lipstick. He couldn't help but think – not for the first time – what it would feel like to kiss those lips. How soft and warm would they be? What would she taste like, devoid of anything cosmetic and artificial? What kind of sounds would she make when he'd take his sweet time exploring her mouth, leaving her breathless and trembling –

 _Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!_ he mentally kicked himself, feeling his pulse quicken. _Get a grip, will you?_

Jim felt annoyed with himself, and he couldn't quite decide whether it had to do with the fact that he had so little psychological self-restraint or because he'd been fantasizing – again – about a kiss, of all things. If it had been anyone else, his mind would have zeroed in on far less innocent things in a millisecond.

Not that Hermione hadn't been involved in a hypothetical bedroom scenario in the past . . . His thoughts now taking a different turn, Jim took a slow, cooling breath in an attempt to suppress a flare of something hot and wicked. He tried to pay full attention to what she was saying and tune out the inconveniently vocal part of his brain that suggested just dragging her across the table, kissing her senseless, and finally claiming _some_ sort of resolution – the part that he _refused_ to listen to, despite the resounding approval from other parts of his anatomy that certainly did not adhere to logic.

The part that he _could not_ listen to, if he wanted to keep Hermione as his friend.

 _Cold shower, Jim. Cold. Shower._

Registering a sudden lack of speech, Jim lifted his gaze from Hermione's lips to meet her eyes. She was giving him an inquiring look, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"Erm . . . James? Is there something on my face?" she asked a bit self-consciously.

"Huh?" he asked dumbly, feeling embarrassed. With a flash of realization, he straightened in his seat and added quickly, "No, there's nothing on your face. I'm just . . . I was just –"

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked in concern. "Your face is all . . . red."

She reached up and touched one of his cheeks. Jim closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, chasing away all the inappropriate thoughts to focus simply on the feeling of her cool hand on his cheek.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said quietly, placing one of his hands over hers.

Then he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and directed it down to rest on the tabletop.

"I just need some air," he said, jumping to his feet and pulling out her bag so he could shove her PADDs and books into it.

Hermione looked confused. "James, what are you doing?"

"Getting out of here," he answered resolutely. "We're done for today."

She stood up, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward towards him, as though to increase the intensity of her words through closer proximity.

" _You_ might be done," she hissed, "but _I_ still have to do the assignment for –"

"Nope," he cut her off, mirroring her stance and grinning. "You're done too."

They stared at each other for a few moments, their faces only inches apart, before Jim slung her bag over his shoulder and proceeded to gather up his own things.

"That assignment of yours can wait till tomorrow. It's not due till the end of the week anyway."

"But James –"

"Nope, no buts. It's getting late. Look at the time."

Hermione glanced at the library's chronometer. It was indeed getting late. Most of the cadets had already left. She and Jim alone must have made up around half of the remaining population in the library.

"Oh," was all she could come up with.

"Yeah, oh. I imagine the librarian will be coming by shortly to kick us out. We lost track of time. Again," he said, though rather than sheepish, he looked pleased with himself for monopolizing her time. "We're leaving, even if I have to _carry_ you out of here."

He stepped closer to her, as though to scoop her up into his arms and fulfill his playful threat.

Hermione blushed, feeling uncomfortable. "Erm – no, James, that won't be necessary. I'll walk," she answered, placing one hand on his chest to keep him from moving to pick her up anyway.

Jim gave her a lopsided grin and nodded, his hand sliding to rest on her lower back as he guided her out of the library.

"I was planning to go to the lab today too . . ." she said wistfully.

"Just forget about your work for one evening – it'll still be there tomorrow. I barely see you these days. Why don't we go and visit our tree together, see how it's faring, and then I'll walk you home?"

Hermione merely offered him a faint nod in response.

" _Our_ tree? Since when is it _our_ tree?" she inquired as they stepped outside.

As often was the case, the weather was chilly and damp. San Francisco's renowned fog, pushed ashore by ocean winds, crept and crawled over the city's famous hills like a living entity. Twirling white tendrils of mist drifted down the streets and alleys.

"Since you helped me plant and care for it." Jim smiled, offering her his free arm. "Think of it as our baby."

Hermione remembered the evening when Jim showed up in her and Harry's flat asking for their help with planting a tree that he'd been able to locate with Spock Prime's assistance. It was a sketia tree – native to Vulcan, with large, drooping branches and orange blossoms. Harry had retired to bed very early that evening after a particularly grueling Occlumency session, and Jim and Hermione had ended up planting the tree alone.

" _I – uh – sorta borrowed your friend Neville's idea. About planting a tree,"_ Jim had said a bit nervously. " _You don't think he would mind, would he?"_

" _He'd be honoured,"_ Hermione had replied, offering him a small, sad smile.

The sketia tree hadn't responded well at first. It was out of its natural environment – Earth had different light, temperature, humidity, and even gravity. They had almost thought it wouldn't survive, but Hermione (who had learned a few things about caring for plants from Neville) had used her magic. It seemed to help, and as time went by, the tree adapted to its new environment, growing stronger in the process. Its typically hanging branches spiraled upward into the air, influenced by Earth's lesser gravity. The rootstock had also changed, as evidenced by its flowers turning blue instead of maintaining their usual orange colour.

Their tree wasn't the only new addition to the Academy grounds, though. Some of the other cadets had taken up Jim's idea and requested permission from the administration to plant some flowers, other vegetation, and a line of shrubs to mark off the area that had become the Memorial Garden. Someone had also thoughtfully arranged for a few simple benches to be placed for those who wanted to spend a little more time in the contemplative atmosphere of the garden.

Hermione came out of her musings and erupted into giggles at Jim's comment, looping one of her arms through his. "For the love of Merlin, James, don't let any of your girlfriends hear you say that."

"I don't have any _girlfriends_ ," he muttered.

Eyes glistening with amusement, she pointed out, "Some of the girls at the Academy certainly don't agree with you on that."

"I don't give a damn what they agree and disagree with," Jim shot back fervently.

"You know, you're far too pretty for your own good, James," Hermione teased, shaking her head.

His face softening with a smile, Jim teased back, "And you're far too smart, _sweetheart_."

Hermione scoffed. "Now I know you're just flattering me, because that's preposterous. One can never be too smart."

Jim chuckled lightly as they reached the sketia tree.

"Well, what d'you think?" he asked, crouching down by the tree. "Will it live?"

"Yes, I believe it will," she replied, lightly running her fingers along the branches with an almost wistful look on her face.

After a few moments of silence, she said, "You know, it's strange . . . Sometimes I feel that Harry and I are like this tree – put in an unfamiliar environment, forced to adapt. To change."

"Well, when your home no longer exists . . . I mean, it's different in your case, because your home _does_ exist, it's just that . . ."

Jim cleared his throat, trying to find the right words.

"It doesn't have to be a bad thing though, does it?" he said thoughtfully, standing up and meeting her gaze. "I mean, think about it: if this tree had been planted where it wanted to be, it would have ended up looking like every other of its kind. But now it's ended up as something . . . extraordinary."

He looked at her intensely and said, " _Sometimes the place you were born isn't where you belong._ _ *****_ "

Hermione looked up into his eyes, realizing that his words struck a chord with her. As a child, Hermione had always felt like she didn't belong in the Muggle world – her bookish and authority-respecting personality had made her the target of bullying and ridicule, which had only been worsened by her occasional outbursts of accidental magic. After she'd discovered that she was a witch, she had hoped that the Wizarding World might be the place where she truly belonged. But that had proven a false hope; in the world of her parents, she had been treated badly for being too abnormal, too magical – at Hogwarts, it was because she was too Muggle. Though such old prejudices had begun to slowly die out after the war, and their society as a whole had taken a step in the right direction, Hermione had known that she wouldn't likely live to see the discrimination completely wiped out.

But on this new Earth, words like 'Mudblood' and 'Pureblood' meant nothing. Here, people got over intolerance and prejudice. Here, ideals were more important than someone's heritage, blood, or species. Here, differences weren't frowned upon, but welcomed . . . Well, for the most part. Regardless of which universe, human nature – and indeed, alien nature, as she was discovering – hadn't changed all that much that such negative aspects of society didn't exist at all.

"Mia?" Jim's soft voice brought her out of her musings.

With a start, she realized that she'd been staring off into space for some time. Cheeks colouring red, Hermione dropped her head, using her long, curly hair to shield herself from his questioning gaze.

She hurried to say, "Sorry to zone out on you like that. I've just been thinking . . ."

Hermione gave her head a shake and met his gaze again. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming desire to leave and escape the awkward feeling that had come over her.

"I should head back," she said. "I'm a little tired."

Suppressing his curiosity and smirking to himself, Jim offered her his arm and said, "I'll walk you back."

"You don't have to do that, you know," she countered, hesitantly accepting his arm. "I could just Apparate back from behind that tree over there," she said, indicating a mature oak tree that was more than large enough to hide the entirety of someone her size.

"You're no fun," Jim whined jovially.

"I know," Hermione responded quietly. "I've been called a boring bookworm before. I have no idea why you hang out with me."

Jim's face dropped at her self-depreciation.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said seriously. "It was a joke. I hang out with you because I _don't_ think you're boring. Besides, being a bookworm isn't a bad thing.

"For the record, I've been called a 'stack of books with legs' before," he said with a quick, lopsided grin.

Glancing up at him sideways, Hermione squeezed his bicep lightly to convey her support. "By Gary," she said, more of a statement than a question – though her tone was slightly hesitant at bringing up Jim's recently deceased friend.

Jim nodded. "Yeah."

After a few moments of silence, he looked down at her, and said, "I'm okay, really . . . Well, more okay, anyway. I think your friend Neville was onto something when he suggested planting a tree. I've found it oddly . . . healing. I think that's why so many other cadets jumped at the chance to do something similar." He paused for a few heartbeats. "I wish I could meet your friend."

"You would have liked him," Hermione responded with a small smile.

They walked in and out of the circles of light cast by the streetlamps in companionable silence, each immersed in their own thoughts. The moon barely lent any of its own light to their walk along the waterfront, its current phase only the tiniest of crescents.

"Can I ask you something?" Jim suddenly inquired.

"Of course."

"Can you read my mind?" he asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue nearly every time they'd conversed.

"I could, but I won't."

She looked up at him and saw an unspoken question in his gaze.

She sighed. "Just because I have the ability to do something doesn't mean I would abuse it."

Jim nodded and asked, "Then why did you learn it? This . . . skill. I'm assuming that it's something you learned, right?"

"Most of the time Legilimency is learned, yes. But there are people who have a natural talent for it. I learned it because I wanted to see if I could. Just like you, I do enjoy a good challenge. Besides, I thought it might be helpful in a life-or-death situation one day," she explained.

Her expression turned thoughtful.

"Although, I don't know how useful it would be here, in this universe, because some aliens have very different neurophysiology. Spock mentioned at one point that he's unable to meld with some species due to these differences. I haven't actually tried Legilimency on any aliens, and magic is different from Vulcan mind-meld – but it is possible that I won't always be able to use my skills . . . I imagine the same would be true for a Memory Charm, though I most certainly wouldn't go experimenting with the latter . . ." she trailed off, berating herself for slipping up and revealing something she wasn't supposed to.

Hermione trusted Jim – as he'd once put it: enough to jump off a cliff if necessary – but she still thought that certain things were better left unsaid. It was safer. For everyone.

Hermione cautiously looked up at Jim. He was eyeing her curiously, eager to know more, but not wanting to pressure her into doing anything she wasn't comfortable with.

"I wasn't really supposed to tell you that." Hermione hesitated, nervously biting down on her lip. "But I know that you can keep a secret."

"I won't tell a soul," Jim promised.

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out, before answering his unspoken question, "The memory charm is a spell that can be used to erase specific memories from an individual's mind. It's often used on Muggles who witness something magic-related. That's one of the ways our world stays hidden." She paused and added, "Harry used it on Captain Pike on the _Narada_ to help prevent him from divulging the frequencies to Nero."

"That was pretty smart," Jim commented.

"Captain Pike thought that it would be safer for Harry and me if the people of this universe didn't know about this particular ability – it's why he deliberately withheld that information in his reports to Starfleet Command."

Jim nodded. "I agree. You never know when someone of questionable morals might try to take advantage of you guys. The less they know about your abilities, the better. Your secret is safe with me," he finished earnestly.

"I believe you."

Jim smiled in response and a bubble of quiet settled around them once more.

"So," started Jim slowly, "if I were a wizard and went to Hogwarts, which House do you think I'd be sorted into?"

"Gryffindor," Hermione replied immediately. "Without a doubt."

" _Where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart_ ," Jim recited.

"You memorized that?" Hermione asked, astonished.

"Why the tone of surprise?" Jim teased her with her own words. "You aren't the only one with a good memory, sweetheart."

"I never said I was, _darling_. I just didn't think you'd remember that from me saying it only once."

Jim chuckled. He really enjoyed their banter and poking fun at each other. It was almost like having a less grumpy, female version of Bones – someone he couldn't help but like, but who could also be incredibly stubborn on occasion.

"So," he spoke up again, "tell me – tell me something I don't know about you yet. I'll reciprocate."

"Where do I even begin?" she replied, rolling her eyes. "Well, I used to play the piano."

"Why did you stop?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I went to Hogwarts."

Jim nodded. "I used to be this perfect, rule-abiding kid, who always had good grades, was a teacher's pet, did everything right. I did everything I was told . . ."

"You? I can't believe it!" Hermione said, giggling.

Jim grinned. "You should. It's all true."

His grin faded.

"That was, until my brother Sam ran away from home. He left me with Frank." His tone turned serious. "My mom was off-planet, and Frank decided to sell my dad's antique red Corvette convertible – it was a gorgeous piece of work, in great condition and retrofitted with a hydrogen engine. I didn't know what he was planning initially. I thought he was just getting me to wash it. And then Sam told me the truth just before he left. Do you know what I did? I drove the car off the cliff. Nearly killed myself in the process. But that's where any kind of defiance and rebellion began.

"Just before Sam stormed off, he said, ' _You can't be a Kirk in this house.'_ I guess I took his words to heart . . . I just got tired of people always comparing me to my dad, always seeing him in me, always expecting things of me that I knew I could never deliver."

Hermione nodded. "You thought that it would be easier to be the complete opposite," she deduced.

"Yeah, something like that," he admitted, having recently spent more time than usual contemplating the impact his father and his actions had made on him. "I used to get angry every time someone mentioned my dad. I even got upset with Spock during my hearing at the Academy when he said that _I of all people_ " – he grimaced at this – "should know that 'a captain cannot cheat death.' So I went and called him _Commander Spork_. On purpose. So childish of me . . ."

Hermione didn't say anything in response and kept looking straight ahead with an unreadable expression, but he knew she agreed with him regarding his last comment.

After a brief pause, she said, "I was like that too, you know – stickler for rules, teacher's pet and all that."

Jim burst out laughing. "No way! It's kinda funny, considering that one of the first things you did when you got aboard the _Enterprise_ was break your Wizarding law. My criminal friend," he joked.

"You're one to talk?" Hermione replied, gently nudging him in the ribs. It only made him laugh harder, and she couldn't stop an answering grin from spreading across her face.

"Anyway," she continued, "I was so devoted to order and following rules that it made me very unpopular at school. I also had a limited sense of humour and was a very opinionated, interfering, bossy know-it-all. Ron even called me a 'nightmare' when we were kids."

"I'm sure he was wrong," Jim said, his smile turning into a frown as he noticed her tone changing at the mention of her fiancé.

"No, actually he wasn't. I really was a nightmare sometimes, I admit."

"I wouldn't call you that now."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose we all have to grow up some time, don't we? And becoming best friends with Harry and Ron certainly helped that process. I came to see that truth and justice were more important than following rules at every turn. I started trusting my intuition more, instead of relying solely on my logic and dismissing things because they didn't have any proof."

Silence settled between them again.

Jim was the first to break it, a distant look in his eyes, "When I was nine, I missed a step, fell into a creek, and hit my head on a protruding rock. I would have died if Sam hadn't jumped in and pulled me out. When I came to, I looked up and saw a look of sheer terror in his face." Jim paused, remembering something. "It's the same terror I felt when all the senior cadets of the Academy were getting into shuttles to go to spacedock and then to Vulcan – and I was being left behind because of the academic suspension. I thought I was done with. It felt like my life was over."

"I understand. I had a similar feeling when I thought Harry was dead during the Battle of Hogwarts."

Jim furrowed his brow. For the most part, both Harry and Hermione were rather private people and didn't easily share their past experiences – only bits and pieces here and there.

"What happened?" he asked cautiously. "Was he injured?"

"Well," she started hesitantly, "you might say that. Perhaps you should wait until he decides to share that particular story with you. It's his to tell."

Suppressing his curiosity, Jim nodded, and said, "When I was a kid, we had a couple of horses. I used to love horseback riding."

"I love rain because it reminds me of England."

"I love rock climbing."

Hermione laughed. "I knew _that_ , you adrenaline junkie."

"I am not!" he defended in mock offense. "Why don't you go rock climbing with me this weekend? It's a lot of fun. Besides, we could start working on that fear of heights thing."

"I don't know. Harry and I are working on a project in the lab, and you have exams," she said, letting go of his arm. "Perhaps some other time."

She held out her hand for her bag and said, "Well, we're here. Thank you for walking me back."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, grinning.

She smiled up at him, one hand touching his forearm. "Good night, James."

She turned and walked up the short path towards the entrance to her apartment building.

"Good night, sweetheart," he whispered.

Jim automatically turned and watched her go – the way a compass needle swivels north, pulled and bound by forces unseen and magnetic – and finally realized that there was no longer any use in denying that he really was in serious trouble.

* * *

 _ **June 7, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth**_

"Anyone sitting here?" asked Harry, standing in front of the table that Nyota was occupying in the Academy Dining Hall.

"Not at all. Please, sit," she replied, looking up from her PADD and waving a hand toward the empty seat across from her.

Harry set down his tray and collapsed into the chair with a sigh, dropping his bag in the empty spot next to him.

"Long day?" Nyota inquired.

"You have no idea. And it's not over yet."

"Speaking of long days – Hermione isn't with you?"

He shook his head. "She's in the lab."

Harry sighed again, propping one elbow on the table and resting his head in his hand. He eyed Nyota's face, noting how preoccupied she seemed.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"It's that transmission again. You know, the one from the _Hercules_? I brought it to the attention of Starfleet."

Harry looked at her in bewilderment.

"What? It's a standard procedure," she defended. "We're supposed to notify them if we pick up something important. And I thought this definitely qualified."

"And?"

"And it took them forever to get back to me!" Nyota exclaimed in exasperation, gesturing to her PADD. "They just called the transmission a 'phonic echo' – most likely reflecting from one of a thousand potential origin points."

She threw her arms into the air, nearly flinging her PADD across the cafeteria in her frustration.

"And?" Harry prodded again.

" _And_ nothing. They thanked me for bringing it to their attention and said they'd give the matter 'all due consideration.' "

"But you're still not happy," Harry surmised.

"Of course I'm not. You saw what happened when we tried to dig up anything on Phylos. Kirk was right – it's very suspicious."

"Well, actually, it's probably not _that_ suspicious. Space is full of incomprehensible anomalies. What if that area of space is just restricted because of . . . er – what are they called again – subspace eddies that can disrupt warp fields? Or some other strange thing."

The scowl on Nyota's face expressed just how little that explanation satisfied her.

"Then why not just specify that the system is quarantined?" she pressed on. "Why hide that information? Come on. We pick up a distress call that points directly to a restricted region of space, from a ship that's been missing for nearly a hundred years and that doesn't throw up any red flags?"

"Well, yeah, okay, it should," Harry agreed but continued to play devil's advocate both because he was interested in where Nyota's research had led her, and because he wanted to give her a chance to vent. "But how about the human factor? What if they forgot to specify that the system is quarantined? Could potentially happen. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Highly unlikely," she sniffed. "But anything is possible, I suppose."

Nyota leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"Interestingly, I looked up Phylos in the archives today again." She paused for effect. "It says that the system is now quarantined due to spatial anomalies," she finished, giving him a meaningful look.

"Really?"

"Really."

"And, of course, you wouldn't be able to find anything regarding the nature of these spatial anomalies because as cadets we –"

"– don't have the level of clearance necessary to access those files," Nyota finished swiftly.

Not wanting to stew in her frustration, she continued, "I've discovered something else in the archives – the _Hercules_ ' crew manifest. Jack Forrest was the chief engineer on that ship."

Harry, still not quite where a Starfleet student should be in terms of historical knowledge, looked at her in question. "And that's supposed to mean something?"

"Yes. He was Admiral Henry Forrest's son, and the nephew of Admiral Maxwell Forrest – the one who was killed during a terrorist attack at the United Earth Embassy on Vulcan in 2154."

A look of recognition flashed across Harry's face. "Oh yeah, I remember seeing a plaque dedicated to him at Starfleet HQ. The guy who was a close friend of Admiral Archer's, and apparently died saving a Vulcan ambassador, right?"

Nyota nodded and continued. "Henry became an admiral five years later – the same year that the _Hercules_ disappeared. Under the belief that his son and the crew had lacked the necessary training to properly prepare them for the job, he proposed the establishment of an Academy to train all future Starfleet officers. Before the Academy, all Starfleet personnel was trained at STC – an institution that trained only Humans. The Academy, better equipped in every way and founded the same year as the Federation, became a place where people of different species could study together."

"So, the Academy's founder lost his son on that ship," said Harry slowly, trying to think up another counterargument for Nyota to tear apart. "I imagine they've searched every corner of that system. As much as these spatial anomalies would allow anyway. If they didn't find anything – which seems to be the case – and the area was too dangerous, they would have quarantined it. But it's possible that someone made a mistake somewhere, and that's why the system didn't immediately show up as such. But now, thanks to your report, they've fixed that mistake. Maybe your transmission really was just a 'phonic echo.' Makes sense?"

"Not to me. I feel like they're just trying to blow me off," she asserted. "Someone's hiding something, Harry. I'm sure of it."

Harry looked thoughtful as he said, "Alright – so what do you want to do about it?"

"I think I need to get around the security wall. And it wouldn't be an easy task . . ."

Harry scoffed. "More like 'impossible.' Hacking into the archives is out of the question, and breaking in physically would likely be very difficult even with magic. That building's a bloody fortress for information with all those levels of security . . . Not to mention the half a dozen passwords you'd need to access a terminal alone."

He paused, smirking at her. "You know, I never took you for someone who likes to break rules."

"I don't," Nyota countered.

"Then why are you doing this? This doesn't seem to be about satisfying your curiosity anymore."

Nyota took a moment to order her thoughts before she met his gaze.

" _U.S.S. Essex_ , _Daedalus_ -class, Registration NCC-173," she recited the information from memory. "Disappeared without a trace in 2167. Last known location is sector 008. Unlike the _Hercules,_ there wasn't even a snippet of a distress call. It's like they just vanished into nothingness. My great-grandfather served as a science officer on that ship."

Nyota paused, visibly collecting herself as the topic suddenly took a turn for the sentimental.

"I grew up hearing stories about him, about some of his trips. He really believed in Starfleet. He was right there with the Federation as it first formed, and stood by everything it meant. My grandfather joined Starfleet, following in his steps, and so did my father. _I'm_ here right now partly because of him."

Harry nodded in understanding, giving her a sympathetic look. "Do you think the _Essex_ also disappeared in the Phylos system? I mean, sector 008 is huge."

"I don't know. Anything is possible. But the not-knowing is why I want to get to the bottom of this. I know you must think I'm crazy, wanting to access classified Starfleet records and risk expulsion over this – right before my graduation, no less. But I feel like I'm not supposed to just let this go . . ."

"Okay," agreed Harry. "Then how about this? Why don't we talk to Pike first? As an instructor _and_ a Captain, he has a different level of access in the archives. Plus, he's your new mentor now, so it wouldn't be that unusual. Maybe if we explained the situation to him, we could at least find out more about these spatial anomalies."

"Of course!" she exclaimed with a dawning grin. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Finishing his meal, Harry pushed his tray aside.

"You've got your first exam tomorrow, right?"

"At 1100 hours," Nyota confirmed.

"I'm meeting Pike tomorrow morning at 0830 for tutoring. Meet me at 0815 in front of the Archer Building and we'll go talk to him. I'm sure he won't mind – he's an understanding sort."

"It's a plan. Thank you," Nyota said sincerely.

Harry nodded. "Well, I'd better get going. Hermione's probably wondering where I am."

"You two sure spend a lot of time in that lab," she noted, a look of curiosity in her eyes. "Would it be too nosey to ask what you're doing in there?"

"Just a project we've been collaborating on," Harry responded vaguely as he gathered up his things to leave. "See you tomorrow morning."

* * *

 _ **Later on that evening . . .**_

Hermione stood before the slab of transparent aluminum that had become the centerpiece of their lab-work, giving it one last check for mistakes.

"Alright," she sighed. "Here goes nothing. Ready?"

Harry nodded, standing beside her with his wand at the ready. "Ready."

They'd gone over the plan many times.

Once Hermione had finished with her calculations and engraved all the runes on the transparent aluminum, it hadn't taken very long for her and Harry to invent a spell that would hypothetically activate their means of getting back home. The sheer speed with which they had created it had been almost miraculous – as if some unknown presence was guiding them. Even the counter-spell to turn everything 'off' had come quickly.

Now that everything was ready, they'd decided to test things out. Harry would be the one to cast the initial spell, and Hermione would be ready with the counter-spell.

"Okay. Let's do this," said Hermione determinedly, raising her wand.

Harry drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he launched into the spell.

Initially, nothing happened. Then, the transparent aluminum began to lose its solidity – it appeared almost liquid, shimmering and flowing, glowing with the colours of the rainbow. Feathery curls of light swirled about its periphery. The view was mesmerizing.

"Well, something's happened," noted Harry, somewhat in a daze.

Hermione, equally dazed, commented, "This is . . . not entirely expected. I mean, I'm not really sure exactly what I was expecting, but this is not it."

"Do you think we've done it?" Harry asked hopefully.

"There's only one way to find out. Let's proceed to Step Two. Be ready with the counter-spell," she instructed, taking her engagement ring off its chain.

Hermione turned the diamond three times counterclockwise. When nothing happened, she held out the ring on the palm of her hand. The wings sprang forth from it with a _clank_ , and the ring fluttered in front of her. She swallowed hard and cast a spell that she and Harry had come up with for increasing the 'magnetic flux density' of their 'magnet,' so to speak – that is, it would strengthen the pull between the ring and their home.

A tiny ball of light appeared from the ring and floated in front of them.

"Sweet Merlin," Hermione breathed, watching the scene unfold in fascination.

The ball of light moved towards what had once been a simple slab of transparent aluminum and made contact with the surface. Instantaneously, the whole thing started buzzing with energy. A low thrum resounded through the lab, intensifying in pitch as the colours swirled, eventually shaping into a vortex of sorts.

"Er . . . Hermione? What's it doing?" Harry asked, watching the movements warily. It almost resembled kaleidoscope shapes spinning round and round.

"I'm not sure," she replied, taking an uncertain step forward. "Perhaps it's doing what it's supposed to and looking for our universe?"

As if on cue, the shimmering field of bright colours suddenly turned pale blue and the ball of light from Hermione's ring that had been floating on the surface disappeared inside. The engagement ring promptly followed suit.

Hermione reflexively reached after it, but managed to stop her hand from making contact with the energy at the last second.

"Oh no! Harry, it's gone – without the ring we won't be able to do this again!"

Harry nodded and stepped closer to the vortex, his face resolute. "It's now or never then."

"But Harry, we haven't tested things properly! What if we find some other unknown universe on the other side?"

The low thrum began to decrease in pitch, even as the swirls of pale blue light slowed in their rotation.

They were running out of time.

" _What's life without a little risk_?" Harry said with a small smile, remembering the words that Sirius had once used.

Hermione knew Harry was fully prepared to jump into that vortex. But she also knew he wouldn't go without her – he would remain true to his earlier words, ' _Together or not at all_.'

Hermione hesitated. "This was supposed to be a simple test. We haven't even said goodbyes –"

"Hermione," Harry cut her off firmly, "make up your mind. I reckon we only have a few more seconds before this thing stops working."

' _I'm scared,'_ she told him with her look.

' _Me too,'_ he replied.

Taking a shuddering breath to calm herself, Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry's hand. If there was even the smallest chance that they'd find their home on the other side of the vortex – and the fact that her ring had produced that ball of light and had gone through indicated that the chances were rather high – it was worth the risk.

Besides, she had Harry with her; and she would follow him into the depths of hell if necessary.

Together they stepped into the vortex, and in a flash, they were gone.

* * *

A/N. ***** _Sometimes the place you were born isn't where you belong_ – this is paraphrase of a quote from a movie "Queen of Katwe" (" _Sometimes the place you are used to is not the place you belong_ "). It's a great film based on a true story.

Tragic death of Admiral Maxwell Forrest is a reference to ST:ENT S4E7 ("The Forge"); STC (Starfleet Training Command) was mentioned in ST:ENT S4E11 ("Observer Effect"); and the _U.S.S. Essex_ was borrowed from ST:TNG S5E15 ("Power Play"). Please, keep in mind that I like to play with canon.

Also, I'm pretty sure you've all picked up on a few references to TOS Kirk (being called 'a stack of books with legs' by Gary Mitchell, horseback riding, rock climbing). While I understand that this Kirk is different, I'd like to think that some things would still be the same. One small example: he's a ladies' man in both :)

Thank you for reading!

Kind regards,

V


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all the hard work she puts into editing this work, and for her always helpful suggestions.

* * *

Chapter 22

Travelling through the vortex was utterly disorienting. It felt like they were tiny balls in a gigantic pinball machine – accelerating one moment, only to be metaphorically slammed into a bumper and bounced in an entirely new direction.

Colours zipped by almost faster than Harry and Hermione could register them, everything blurring into one confusing, rainbow-like mix. In the brief moments that their eyes could focus enough to get a clearer picture, they glimpsed astounding celestial formations – humility-inducing in their majesty, even with only the snapshot view available to them.

Then a blinding white light enveloped the two of them, forcing them both to close their eyes.

Once the light dissipated and Harry's vision began to adjust, he found himself standing in the same position he'd been in when he'd first made contact with the vortex. Hermione, however, had collapsed on the ground and looked like she was going to be sick.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside his friend.

"I'm okay," she reassured him weakly, looking a bit green. "I'm okay. I've just been reminded why I never liked roller coasters."

"I've actually never been on one," confessed Harry, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder and shooting her a small grin. "If that's what they're like, I don't think I'd mind them."

"Was it like this the first time around? I mean, when we first got on board the _Enterprise_?"

Harry frowned, contemplating her question. "I don't think so. But to be honest, I wasn't in the right state of mind then to be paying proper attention."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and rose to his feet to examine their surroundings.

"Bloody hell!" he let out, recognizing the place from his dreams. His exclamation was followed by more colourful language.

"Harry, watch your language," Hermione reprimanded in a whisper, her eyes fixed on something in the distance. "There are little ones around."

"Little ones? What little . . ." he trailed off as his eyes fell upon several curious faces peeking out from behind nearby trees. "Oh."

Apart from the chirping of birds and buzzing of an occasional insect, the place was completely silent.

One of the little ones – a gnome, as Harry and Hermione had come to know through their dreams – left his hiding place and hesitantly headed towards them, both of his hands behind his back, and his eyes glancing shyly at Hermione.

The gnomes in this strange place were very different from the ones Harry and Hermione were used to back home – they weren't pests, they didn't terrorize gardens. Instead, they were basically the opposite, protecting the vegetation and living in harmony with nature. Their appearance was different as well – although they were still only about a foot in height, they looked like small, plump children with pointy ears. They behaved like them, too. Especially the younger ones, who could easily be identified by their very colourful outfits and the absence of beards on the males.

The little gnome who approached Hermione was clearly very young. His pointy ears peeked out from beneath his equally pointy purple hat. His outfit was mismatched – much like something a little child would pick for himself without his parents' help – with a bright yellow shirt, forest green trousers, and pink socks. One of his shoes was blue and the other white.

Sensing his uncertainty, Hermione gave him a gentle smile. "It's alright. We won't hurt you."

"He knows. Egan is just shy," said a familiar, melodic voice from behind them.

Harry helped Hermione to her feet. Turning around, they found themselves staring at the mysterious alien lady who had been visiting their dreams for a few months now.

"Welcome. We have been expecting you," the lady said with a radiant smile.

Egan, now close enough to Hermione to touch her, produced a white flower from behind his back and handed it to her with a shy smile.

"Thank you, Egan," Hermione said, dropping to one knee to accept the offering.

She tucked the flower behind her ear and gave him a bright smile and a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Egan turned tomato red, and quickly ran away to hide behind a tree again. A chorus of giggles from the other gnomes accompanied his retreat.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Hermione somewhat self-consciously as she rose to her feet again.

"Why are we here?" interjected Harry, his tone more forceful than he meant it to be, as he tightened his grip on his wand. "Please, don't tell me this is another dream."

The lady shook her head. "This time, you are not dreaming, precious hearts."

"Are we back in our universe?" Harry pressed on.

"Come with me," the lady instructed, ignoring his question. "We should discuss things in a more comfortable setting."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look and nodded in agreement to the lady.

The lady turned on her heel and started walking. As Harry and Hermione followed her, every step seemed to cause their surroundings to change – like pieces of one jigsaw puzzle falling off and being replaced by another. The meadow and the trees disappeared, and they found themselves on a golden path within a garden, walking towards a unique-looking structure.

It was nothing like they'd ever seen before: everything – from its domed roof to oval windows – was flowing with curves and bends, much like a sculpted creation devoid of any straight edges and corners. In the distance, there were more buildings like it, though no two of them were exactly the same.

"Welcome to my home," the lady smiled, gesturing around herself.

A few gnomes hid themselves in the vegetation of the garden, their vibrant hats poking out and blending in with the colourful flowers. Several somethings zipped about the area, leaving trails of lilac-coloured light – the creatures themselves unidentifiable simply because they moved faster than the human eye could follow. Elsewhere, beings seemingly made of pure, white light drifted among the tree branches, their forms shifting into something new with every movement they made.

"What was that? Was that your version of . . . Apparition?" asked Harry, referring to the strange way that they'd suddenly found themselves in front of the building.

"In a manner of speaking," said the lady cryptically, her smile widening.

"Erm . . . not to be blunt or anything, but we don't even know your name," Hermione pointed out uncertainly.

"Oh, my apologies. My people communicate telepathically, you see. I must have failed to introduce myself from your perspective," the lady replied, laughing. "I am Amerisis."

She gestured towards her house. "Please, come inside. I am sure you are hungry for food – and for some answers."

With that, she led them towards one of the outer walls. There was no opening there – only an ornate design around the same height that a door-frame might be. As Amerisis approached it, a doorway-sized section of the wall vanished, allowing her to walk through.

The interior of the house was very bright and open, thanks to the glass wall and skylight. For all that it was strange in its architecture, the place felt welcoming. Although of minimalist design with sparse furnishings, it was plentiful with natural materials of beautiful wood and stone.

Hermione's head buzzed with all the questions she wanted to ask. She took a few deep breaths – the air smelled like lilies of the valley, pine needles, and freshly baked cherry pie – and tried to organize her thoughts.

"Where are we? What is this place? I mean – this planet?" she queried, thinking to start with something simpler.

"Our planet is named Omri, after our dearly beloved ruler," Amerisis replied, leading them towards a dining table absolutely covered with different types of food. She motioned for her guests to take a seat.

"Why aren't we home?" Harry pushed for more answers, crossing his arms and paying zero attention to the food. "We're supposed to be home. Hermione's ring and that ball of light . . ."

Amerisis analyzed the two friends in front of her, both eager to know what she had to say, and smiled gently.

"Clearly you're hungrier for answers than for food," she said. "I will oblige you. But, please, understand that certain things may remain a mystery, for there are greater forces at work than either of you realize – forces that might take exception to certain truths being told."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, neither one of them happy about being kept in the dark about even a portion of their circumstances, but they supposed it was better to get _some_ answers than none. Moreover, there was something about Amerisis – something about her very nature – and about the planet itself that seemed to be having a calming effect on them.

In the end, they decided to take a seat and listen to what Amerisis had to say.

"Your home as you know it no longer exists, and you will never be able to return to your universe as you are now," Amerisis spoke directly, offering no further elaboration.

Hermione stared at her in confusion for a few moments, before finding her voice again.

"What do you mean, our home no longer exists? And 'returning as we are now'? How else would we return?"

Amerisis smiled brightly, taking a seat across from her guests. "Why don't I begin from the very beginning then?"

"That would probably be the best, yeah," said Harry.

"My people are aware of great many things," she started vaguely. "Though the future is never set in stone, we became aware that your last encounter with those you call Death Eaters might end in your demise. The probability of it was too great, and we felt that it would be a terrible waste. Thus, a decision was made by the Council of Elders to grant a very rare dispensation to save the two of you, so that you could continue your life in our universe and fulfill your service to life."

"Our service to life?" Harry echoed, not really liking the notion of being thrust into some 'service.'

Amerisis smiled gently. "You were destined for greatness, Harry Potter. You and Hermione both." She glanced at the curly-haired witch and back at the wizard. "Harry, Hermione wasn't lying when she said that you have a good, kind, brave, and loving heart –"

"How do you know about that?" interjected Harry warily, remembering his and Hermione's conversation in the Medbay. "No one could have overheard that conversation."

His eyes narrowed as he recalled her mentioning her kind was telepathic. "Stay out of our heads!" he demanded.

"Dear Harry, as I said, our people are aware of great many things. We do not have to read your mind to know certain things. I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable, but we can no more stop our ability to know than you can stop breathing."

In response, Harry merely stared at Amerisis, still feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You were saying something about our . . . service to life?"

Amerisis nodded and continued, "The balance that has been carefully maintained for eons in this universe was upset by Nero the moment he came through that black hole and attacked the U.S.S. _Kelvin._ He set off a chain reaction that could only lead to one outcome – the destruction of many systems and planets, and the total annihilation of many sentient beings and species. For twenty-five years my people searched for a way to restore the balance, to prevent the looming calamity – a way that would adhere to our rules. Saving the two of you was our opportunity to do so.

"It was a choice between letting you die there and letting you live here. So, I volunteered to be your patron to make it permissible for you to come here."

Amerisis paused, and an expression that neither Harry nor Hermione could identify flashed across her face before she continued, "It wasn't an easy task – events had to unfold in a particular order, and the timing had to be extremely precise. For such a great intervention to happen, great sacrifices had to be made. But the alternative was unbearable."

"What kind of sacrifices?" asked Harry, somewhat afraid to hear the answer. He'd had quite enough of people dying so that he could live.

Amerisis smiled reassuringly. "Fear not, dear one. I had to give up a certain portion of my energies, of my vital force. It was a choice I made gladly and willingly. There were others, of course, who would have done it in my stead – I was merely the first to volunteer."

"That won't . . . kill you, will it?" asked Harry in trepidation.

This time Amerisis laughed slightly. "Nothing like that, Harry. The worst possibility is that I may not regain the lost portion of my energies, and will thus be unable to offer my services to _any_ part of life anymore. And for me, that is a terrible thought to consider."

"How do you go about regaining that portion of your vital force?" inquired Hermione.

"There is a certain scale of universal energies. Every life you save, every good deed you perform – each contribution redeems my powers increment by increment. In stopping Nero, you have already gone a long way in justifying my faith in the both of you."

Harry and Hermione both went silent as they digested Amerisis' words.

"Speaking of Nero," Harry started uncertainly, finally finding his voice again. "It sounded like you brought us here to help defeat him. Now that he's gone for good, shouldn't we be able to go back home?"

"It isn't that simple, Harry," Amerisis replied, her tone apologetic. "I know you won't want to hear this, but by the reckoning of your home universe, the two of you have been dead for over two hundred years. This _cannot_ and _will not_ be changed," she stated with a tone of finality, offering no further comments.

Harry heard her through a strange ringing in his ears, as though her words had boxed him around the head. Hermione was grateful that she was sitting, otherwise she might have fallen over.

"So, when you said that we can't return home as we are now . . ." said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. "Did you mean that the only way we would return is . . . dead?"

Amerisis merely nodded, remorse written plainly in her features.

Harry turned to Hermione. "You were right then, when you said that we could have travelled not only through dimensions, but also through time," he told her quietly. "That means that everyone . . . that our _home_ is long gone."

Hermione, at a loss for words, merely reached out and grasped his hand.

"I am truly sorry that it has to be this way," said Amerisis. "But you've been offered a second chance. It is a rare opportunity."

"Why us?" Hermione asked, attempting to keep a stiff upper lip. "Not that we aren't grateful to be alive, but if there is an infinite number of universes out there, why did you save _us_? Wasn't there someone else more powerful, more skillful – someone who could defeat Nero _and_ save Vulcan? Perhaps, even the _Kelvin_?"

"There were indeed others more powerful and skillful who could have been saved like you – but they were all disqualified. Unfortunately, I cannot offer you details, and even if I could, I do not believe that the information would be helpful to you. All I can say is this: it is not so much about power as it is the nature of an individual. Through the course of your lives, you and Harry have both demonstrated qualities that we find desirable. But perhaps the most important factor was the opportunity to save not one, but both of you. The way you two work together, balancing your strengths and weaknesses, is what allowed for this dispensation to happen."

Amerisis' face became more serious.

"It is also what will be needed to face what is yet to come."

"And what would that be?" asked Harry somewhat irritably. "Nero and his threat are gone now. I'm sure this universe and its people can handle whatever challenges they'll encounter on their own. They have all that advanced technology . . ."

"I may not elaborate in detail at this time – I can only say that what Nero has left in his wake is far more dangerous than the man himself ever was. You know from your encounter with the _Narada_ that advanced technology means little when the enemy has something better. This galaxy is not yet prepared to deal with such a foe. It needs you. It needs both of you – and your magic."

"And what if we don't want to be involved in this – in whatever it is to come?" demanded Harry, his agitation mounting. "Are you going to tell us that we are somehow _obligated_ to help?"

"You are not obligated to do anything, Harry. You still have a choice."

"But you if you are truly aware of a _great many things,_ as you say you are," interjected Hermione, "then you know that Harry isn't someone to simply stand by and do nothing if he knows he can help. You know what he did shortly after we found ourselves on the _Enterprise_. And you're asking him to risk his life again? Hasn't he already been through enough?!" finished Hermione, clenching her fists.

"Hermione," said Harry tiredly, placing a calming hand on top of hers.

It wasn't rare for her to defend his interests back home whenever she thought that the Wizarding World was making unreasonable demands of their savior.

"No, Harry!" she replied fervently, grasping his hand in both of hers. "I can't watch you die again in an attempt to save others!"

"My dear Hermione," said Amerisis with a kind smile. "Death is a natural part of life and is therefore always a possibility. But know this: whatever challenges you face in the future, you will be victorious – as long as you two work together. And you will be prepared. You will know exactly what to do. You will have the advantage, if only because it would be a shame for two people with abilities like yours to perish."

"Surely there are others with magical abilities – why are we so special?" asked Harry.

"Everything depends on your definition of 'magical,' " Amerisis replied vaguely.

Harry studied her face for a heartbeat. "Okay, let me rephrase that – are there any more people like us?"

" _Exactly_ like you? No, there aren't."

"But there are others who are similar then?" Hermione pressed on, crossing her arms.

Amerisis merely looked on with an unreadable expression, but didn't say anything.

Hermione didn't give up so easily. "Will we ever meet them?"

"One can never tell with certainty what will or will not happen. As I already said, the future is never set in stone. Events that are yet to come, and their outcome, depend on the choices you make."

"Brilliant," said Harry in exasperation. "Then let me ask you this: if you are as powerful as you seem to be – which you must be, given that you can bring people across time and dimensions . . . Why would you even need us to help? Why can't _you_ deal with whatever threat it is to come to this galaxy?"

Amerisis offered a kind smile. "One of the laws of my people is that of non-interference, for we do not occupy the same stage of evolution as you or any of the other species. To be honest, we are completely unaffected by whatever happens on your plane of existence. But out of our love and appreciation for life, we find indirect ways to intervene and render assistance."

The two friends were silent for a few moments, pondering the lady's words and trying wrap their heads around everything that had been said.

"Was there no way that Vulcan could have been saved?" Hermione finally asked. "Perhaps, if you could have brought us here a little bit sooner . . ?" she trailed off, looking at Amerisis expectantly.

" _When_ and _where_ you appeared was the only option," Amerisis answered.

"So, all the things we've done in the last few months, the countless hours we've spent searching for a way to get back – it was all for nothing?" Harry spoke with agitation. "I don't suppose you could have just popped into our dreams and told us about this sooner? Why did you even give us any hope of going back home, if we weren't meant to go there anyway?"

"My dear Harry, would you really have believed me if I had simply 'popped' into your dreams and told you all this?" said Amerisis, giving Harry a penetrating look. "I doubt you would have taken my words very seriously. As it is, it took me several attempts to even convince you to follow the way that I showed you. These types of delays are unacceptable in life-or-death situations. I had to make sure you knew I was real, that your dreams were indeed one of the ways I can communicate with you – that if I ever were to contact you in the future, you would respond.

"Furthermore, I know for a fact that you would not have given up searching for a way back very easily. You would have wasted years clinging to a hope of what can never be. Am I wrong?"

The two admittedly stubborn friends were silent for a long moment.

"No, you aren't," Harry finally confessed with a sigh, his gaze cast downwards.

Amerisis gave them a sympathetic look. "You need to move on with your lives, for there is much to do, to discover, to learn. You cannot do any of that very efficiently if you're holding on to your old lives. You are _here_ now. You have to accept that there is no going back, and make the most of your lives here."

Amerisis paused, her expression contemplative. "Perhaps there is something else I can do for you . . . It is not exactly forbidden, and it will help you to . . ." she trailed off, nodding to herself.

Next instant, with a start, Harry found himself standing somewhere else. It was entirely unlike Apparition. It was more as if his attention had simply wandered for a moment, and the world had taken advantage of his inattention to relocate him. Rather than inside Amerisis' house, he now stood before a large building that looked like a gigantic pyramid – tall enough that its top was hidden by clouds.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Harry, immediately noting her absence. "What have you done with her?"

"Do not worry, Harry," Amerisis replied, and immediately a wave of calm washed over him. "I took her with me elsewhere."

" _You_ took her elsewhere?" Harry asked in befuddlement. "How can you be taking her anywhere if you are here with me?"

"I am here. I am there. I am everywhere present," Amerisis replied with her usual disarming smile.

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Can't you just give a straight answer?" he grumbled, massaging his temples.

"I just did," countered Amerisis.

"Are you saying you can be in multiple places at once?"

"In multiple places, in multiple dimensions, in multiple points in time," said Amerisis – except her voice came from somewhere behind him.

Harry spun around, and his eyes flicked between the two identical ladies. He let out a whistle. "This isn't some kind of a holographic projection, is it?"

A third Amerisis materialized out of thin air before his eyes, smiling. "No, it is not," she said, and all three of them briefly touched his forearm.

The touch was very tangible – and while he had read about solid holograms in his new-world studies, this seemed . . . different. Harry could feel all the power, and energy, and what he could only assume was some sort of _magic_ course through all three of her like electricity – something he reckoned wouldn't be possible if it was indeed merely a hologram. He hastily pulled his arm away. It was a bit too much to handle.

"I do not have the same limitations as you do, Harry. I can be wherever, whenever, and as many times as I want to."

"Cool. That's . . . pretty useful, I suppose."

Two of her vanished.

"Do not be afraid, Harry," she said. "You will have to walk the next part of the journey alone, but I believe the experience will help you in the future."

Harry gave her a questioning look and opened his mouth to say something, when thick fog suddenly rolled in. In a matter of seconds, Harry could barely see his legs, let alone the powerful and mysterious being who had brought him there.

"Do not be afraid," Amerisis repeated, her voice echoing around him.

"Amerisis?" Harry called, alarmed. "What's going on?"

Whiteness swirled around him, so thick, it felt like he could reach out and grab it. But the next instant, the fog dissipated, and Harry found himself standing alone in a snowy lane under a darkening blue sky. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. His insides twisted in panic as he recognized the scenery. This didn't make any sense. Amerisis said they couldn't go back. And yet, here he was, in Godric's Hollow. Without Hermione.

Hermione. He couldn't go back without her. He couldn't! He couldn't face Ron and her parents.

The churning of Harry's thoughts spurred him into a mindless walk down the narrow lane.

 _Am I dead?_ No, he seemed pretty solid to touch, and so did other objects around him. But for some reason, despite the fact that it was clearly winter and he was wearing only a thin jacket, he didn't feel cold. But, inexplicably, his breath still came out in plumes of white mist in the chilled air.

 _Did Hermione somehow convince Amerisis to send me back alone?_ Amerisis said she had to make a sacrifice – give up a portion of her vital force – to bring them to the _Enterprise_.

 _Did Hermione give up something_ – _something very, very important_ – _so that I could go back home?_ He knew it wouldn't be unlike her to do that.

 _But then, when exactly did Hermione have the time to do anything of the sort?_ She was with him the entire time, apart from those last few minutes before he found himself here. But then again, Amerisis had just admitted she could do strange things with time, hadn't she? That she'd taken Hermione elsewhere?

Lost in his thoughts, Harry couldn't quite remember how he suddenly found himself at the center of the village square. Everything was just as he remembered it: the shops, the post office, the pub, the little church with stained-glass windows that glowed jewel-bright across the square. The graveyard behind it.

Harry had never visited it alone. Since his first visit to Godric's Hollow with Hermione four years ago, Harry had unfailingly visited the resting place of James and Lily Potter on their death day. But Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had always been with him, offering silent support and giving him space when he needed it. Somehow they always knew – even without him having to say anything.

Harry loved having Ginny and his best friends beside him. They were his family – the one he'd made for himself, not the one he had lost, or the one he'd been unwillingly foisted upon.

 _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._ Hermione had explained the meaning of the inscription during their first visit, when he had assumed that it was a twisted Death Eater mantra.

 _"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,"_ she had said, her voice gentle. " _It means . . . you know . . . living beyond death. Living after death. It means some things outlast death."_

Love always outlives Death.

The notion had comforted Harry. He liked Hermione's interpretation. The meaning rang through him like a deep bell – ancient and new, mysterious and revelatory. An Old Truth.

Furrowing his brow, Harry paused to consider something else. Having been transported to another universe to escape from death in their own . . . was it not what Harry and Hermione had done? Lived beyond death? But it was surely different, was it not? They hadn't actually died, had they? And how exactly was he back in Godric's Hollow again?

Harry felt a headache growing like a snowball rolling downhill. He rubbed his forehead and walked further down the square. People were still milling about it, no one paying much attention to a young man who wasn't even dressed according to weather. The familiar obelisk covered in names greeted him at the center of the square. As he approached it, he expected it to transform into a statue of three people: his parents and himself represented in stone.

Nothing of the sort happened. The war memorial remained unchanging. He even had to touch it to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

 _Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong._

Fear gripping at his stomach, Harry quickly made his way towards the place where he knew his parents' cottage was. And it still was. His heart pounding, he stopped in front of a two storey building with a small gate and hedges surrounding the front yard. Coloured lights were all around the property, winking at him merrily and invitingly.

With a trembling hand, Harry opened the gate and took shaky steps up the little pathway to the front door. He lifted a hand to knock. At that moment the door burst open and a smiling face greeted him.

"Harry! About time! Come in, come in, don't just stand there."

His jaw dropping in astonishment, Harry slowly dropped his hand to his side and swallowed.

"Sirius?"

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.161 – the Dark Market_**

Located in an asteroid field, the Dark Market drew in species from across the galaxy, looking to buy and sell anything: food, clothing, technology, energy, weapons – even people. It had a thousand different names for the thousand different species that passed through.

In an obscure corner of a godforsaken tavern, a hooded Romulan conversed with a Lyssarian smuggler.

"You are certain you were not followed?" the Romulan asked, throwing clandestine glances at the patrons of the tavern.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" the Lyssarian retorted. "I'm a smuggler. Avoiding detection is what I _do_."

The Lyssarian took a sip of Romulan Ale to calm himself from the perceived insult. "Anyway, this isn't my first time doing business. I have everything you requested – ready and loaded on the vessel as we agreed."

He pulled out a small device out of his pocket and waved it in front of the Romulan's face. "The ship is cloaked. You'll need this to find it and access it. The command codes to operate the vessel are there as well. I hope you know how to fly one of those things," he added with a derisive smile.

"That is none of your concern, Mr. Kys," the Romulan replied, holding out a hand for the device.

"Not so fast, handsome," said Kys, pulling the device back. "Do you know how hard it is to acquire the components that you requested? I nearly died! Handling a Thermal Isolitic Plasma Charge is no glass of Romulan Ale! And the ship you requested . . . It's one thing to find it, and completely another to get it here undetected – with those _passengers_ , no less! And if that wasn't enough –"

"All the negotiations have already been concluded," the Romulan cut him off firmly. "Changing the price now is unacceptable. The payment will be transferred to you as per our agreement."

"Much appreciated. But I can't help feeling that the extraordinary circumstances surrounding my acquisition of these particular objects compel me to revisit the terms of our contract."

"You knew what the job was when you took it, Mr. Kys. I will pay you what we agreed and nothing more. Hand the device over."

"Look – how about a little performance bonus? For all the hard work I've put into acquiring those things for you?"

The Romulan stared at him for a moment. "I wish to inspect the ship and the product prior to agreeing to this _bonus_."

"What are we waiting for?" The Lyssarian leapt to his feet excitedly.

They made their way to the ship mostly in silence. Kys made a few attempts to fill it, but the Romulan was disinclined toward idle chit-chat. Once they boarded the ship, Kys showed him to the components and the three incapacitated Klingons.

"See?" said Kys, gesturing around himself. "Everything delivered as we agreed."

The Romulan met his gaze and smiled – a smile that would freeze an open flame. "You are correct, Mr. Kys. We _do_ need to revise our contract."

With that, he pulled out a disruptor and shot the Lyssarian in the heart.

"I forgot to mention I will not be requiring your services any longer," he added, unable to resist saying a one-liner as he holstered his weapon.

The Romulan pulled out a communication device and activated it.

 _"Report,"_ said a deep, baritone voice on the other end.

"All the variables have been taken care of. The house is clean," the Romulan reported, eyeing Kys' lifeless body.

 _"Were you able to remain undetected?"_

"Affirmative. Everything is ready for Stage Two."

 _"Proceed, Commander."_


	23. Chapter 23

A/N. Hello, everyone! Parts of this chapter were difficult to write - hence my procrastination. But I think I'm finally ready to share it. It's pretty long, but it didn't feel right to split it up. So, here we go. Buckle up!

As always, many thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , who finds time in her busy schedule to teach me the subtleties of the English language and helps me improve my writing.

 **Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

* * *

Chapter 23

 _ **San Francisco, California, Earth**_

Walking towards the Memorial Garden, Winona Kirk was surprised to find her son there instead of the hospital.

He was sitting on a bench, elbows propped up on his knees, in front of the unique sketia tree. His shoulders were slumped, his short hair tousled – as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly, eyes cast down. He seemed to be so deep in thought that he didn't even notice her sit down beside him.

"Jim?" Winona said softly, putting a hand on her son's shoulder.

He nearly jumped in surprise, the movement causing him to wince. Winona quickly removed her hand.

"Mom? I'm sorry, I'm a little . . ." He gave her a bleak smile. "How are you here? I wasn't expecting to see you for a few more days."

While the _Valiant,_ due for a refit, remained at Starbase 1, most of her crew was temporarily assigned to other vessels or took up positions on Earth. Winona used the opportunity to prepare for and take the Bridge Officer's Test, and attend a science conference on Pelios III.

"I left the conference sooner," she explained, studying his face with concern. "As soon as I found out about what happened, I got on the first available transport heading for Earth."

He looked exhausted, and his jaw was thick with stubble, making him seem curiously vulnerable.

"We just docked a few hours ago, and I got here as soon as I could. With the Federation being on high alert, the security is pretty tight everywhere. I couldn't contact you, so I called Pike. He said you'd still be in the hospital," she added sternly.

"I'm fine now, mom. I've already spent hours and hours in the regeneration chamber. Everything's mostly healed by now."

"When were you released from the hospital?" Winona pressed on.

"I wasn't. I escaped," he said, giving her a ghost of a smile. "I bet security'll come looking for me soon . . . I didn't see the need to be there anymore and I just . . . couldn't stand it any longer – with all those investigators asking the same questions over and over and Bones trying to fight 'em off."

Jim clenched his teeth, a muscle in his jaw jumping, as he took his frustration out on his teeth. After a moment, he sighed heavily, his eyes trained on the grass between his feet. Winona followed his gaze and noticed that his hands were visibly shaking. She gently put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Jim winced again in response.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Winona, reluctantly pulling away.

"It's fine, mom." He didn't sound fine at all. "My skin is still a bit tender. Plasma burns aren't fun . . ."

There was a long, awkward silence – interrupted only by a couple of shuttles whizzing by above them – as Jim kept staring down, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Winona tried to bring her own emotions under control. From what she'd been told, Jim had acquired more than just plasma burns during the incident. While their 23rd century medicine may have been capable of treating those burns, broken bones, and ruptured eardrums in a relatively short span of time, she was certain it took longer than mere days to fully recover from the internal injuries sustained, not to mention the post-traumatic stress.

She wanted to be angry with him for being so careless with his own health, but instead she took a steadying breath and slowly let it out.

"I spoke with Captain Pike," Winona said hesitantly. "He's worried about you. Another near-death experience so soon after . . ."

"I'm _fine_ , mom," he said shortly. "I'm handling it. Nothing to worry about. I just have some stuff to process."

"Pike said that you turned down the counselor he recommended for you . . . He also mentioned that before the incident two of your friends went –"

"Why does everyone keep wanting me to see a counselor?" Jim interrupted harshly, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. "I don't need a damn counselor!"

Winona visibly flinched at his outburst. A couple of cadets in the garden turned to throw curious glances at them.

Jim slowly inhaled and let it out. "I'm sorry," he said more gently. "That was uncalled for. I'm . . . I don't know what . . . I just . . ." he trailed off, unable to finish his thought.

Winona put a hand on her son's knee and lightly patted it. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I shouldn't be lashing out at you like that. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she repeated. "I understand."

He looked up at the statement and studied her face, as if trying to determine if she really did understand. After a few long moments, he nodded and returned his gaze back to his feet. He didn't say anything for a long while. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to shield him from everything that troubled him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. But she was afraid of causing him any more pain and wasn't sure that he'd welcome her actions.

"If there's anything you want to talk about," Winona said uncertainly, "I'm here for you."

She saw his chin tremble and listened as he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"Why do people I care about keep leaving or dying on me?" he said finally.

His words were barely above whisper, and Winona had to strain to hear them.

"Jim, I'm –"

He looked up sharply, his eyes widening, as though realizing he'd spoken those words out loud.

"Don't answer that," he cut her off quickly, a note of warning in his voice. "Just. Don't."

Winona swallowed and nodded, guilt overwhelming her – for being emotionally unavailable when her kids were little, for going off-planet and leaving them with their step-dad. Jimmy had always been a perfect little boy – never misbehaving, always following rules, always seeking approval. It was Sammy who had had a rebellious streak and had often caused mischief in the name of science – using up all of her vinegar and baking soda to create a 'volcano,' catching and bringing home frogs and snakes, mixing homemade gunpowder and using it to make a cannon out of old tin cans with the bottoms cut out and soldered together.

But after Sam, the last member of his family, had left him with Frank, something had cracked in Jimmy. Winona could see it very clearly when she got back from her off-planet mission – Jim was never the same again. She had failed both of her boys, and she wondered, not for the first time, what George would say if he were to see them now.

Uncomfortable silence settled between them. Wanting to fill it, she started, "According to the latest news, Starfleet found traces of elements consistent with Klingon weaponry at the site of the explosion – except for one thing. There was some sort of plasma charge that they found unusual, but –"

"Mom, please. Can we talk about something else?"

Winona nodded, feeling abashed. She should have known that Jim wouldn't want to talk about this after being asked tons of questions on the matter by the investigators.

A simple recruiting trip to Dolvia VII – one of the more remote colonies – turned into a disaster. One of the most decorated Starfleet officers, Commodore Decker, as well as newly minted Lieutenant Ogawa – both dead. Dozens more injured.

But it could have been so much worse.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke, "You saved a lot of people, Jim . . . And I . . . I almost lost you again," she added, stifling a sob.

"I just happened to be in the right place at the right time," Jim joked feebly.

"You mean the _wrong_ place at the _wrong_ time," she managed to return, though the thickness of tears clogged her throat.

"That, too," he said, looking up at the tree and letting out a small humourless chuckle. "Just my luck, I guess. And what I did wasn't that special. It was . . . logical."

The corners of his mouth pulled up in a barely detectable smile, and he got that look in his eyes that signaled he must have been remembering something.

"You almost sounded modest right there," Winona attempted to tease.

"Nothing would be wrong with that," Jim said quietly. "A good friend of mine once told me that if I showed a little humbleness once in a while, I'd be golden."

Winona stretched out a leg and chuckled lightly. "That was actually a good advice."

"Yeah, she's smart like that," he murmured, voice muffled and agonized.

Winona wondered if this was one of his friends that according to Pike had disappeared. She didn't quite know what to do or what to say, if anything. Jim swallowed and turned to meet her eyes.

"Can you tell me about Dad?" he asked suddenly. "How you met him?"

The question was unexpected, to say the least. Not that Winona never talked about George – she did. Perhaps, not as much as she should have when her boys were growing up, since the loss of her husband had still been too near. But she was sure that she had told them the story of how she and George had met several times.

Seeing Jim's expression now, she decided not to ask any questions. "Well, as you know, I was four years younger than your father. He was my instructor in my Introduction to Federation History class. There were strict rules about students 'fraternizing' with instructors," Winona said, chuckling lightly, "and once I met your father, I wanted to break _all_ of them."

Jim chuckled as well, his hands raking his golden hair. She saw so much of George in him – in his voice and his blue eyes, in the squaring of his shoulders – that it hurt. But it was a hurt like the stretch of healing scar tissue, not the abrasion of a raw wound.

"I remember you lecturing Sam and me about breaking rules," he said.

"I guess you two got that from me," she shot back, grinning.

It felt so good to be speaking to him like this. After that conversation they'd had when he was on the _Enterprise_ on his way back to Earth, their interactions had been frequent, but short – the excuse of busy lives keeping them apart. Winona knew, deep down, that the issue had less to do with lack of time and more with being uncertain on how to reestablish their relationship. Years of resentment didn't just go away overnight. They were taking baby steps, but at least they were moving in the right direction.

"Can I ask a personal question?" Jim blurted out.

"Anything," she replied earnestly.

"What did it feel like when Dad died?"

The question hit her like a bucket of ice cold water. Winona found it difficult to breathe, the dull ache in her chest becoming prominent. Even after all these years, the subject was still difficult for her, and she wondered if she'd ever be able to talk about her husband's death without wanting to cry.

Blinking back tears, she responded in a shaky voice, "It felt like – like a part of me died with him."

"How did you move on?" Jim asked quietly.

"With great difficulty," she admitted. "In some ways, I still haven't."

Jim nodded, gaze fixed somewhere far ahead. "Do you still miss him?"

"Every single day. More than the words can describe."

Jim frowned and looked sideways at her. "You still love him?" he asked, disbelief registering in his tone. "Even after all these years?"

"Always," she breathed, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

She quickly swiped it away, and inquired hesitantly, "Jim, this friend of yours –"

"What d'you have there, mom?" he cut her off.

His gaze fell on the pot she had brought with her, his expression now closed off and unreadable. He was shutting her out again, erecting an unbreakable wall between them, and she knew she currently couldn't do anything about it.

 _Baby steps_ , she had to remind herself, although it stung. _Baby steps. When he's ready, he'll talk._

"Oh, it's just a plant I picked up on Pelios III. Something similar to a rosebush. The _Valiant_ 's crew wanted to contribute something to the Memorial Garden as well, and as their lead botanist, I was tasked with picking out the plant. I was assured that it would grow well on Earth. I volunteered to plant it as well. I was just going to drop it off here before going to see you at the hospital. I didn't expect to find you here," she explained.

Jim nodded, averting his gaze, as a muscle in his jaw jumped again. "Did you get permission from the administration to plant it?" he asked, his tone even.

Winona laughed lightly. "Of course."

Jim forced a smile, jumping to his feet. "Would you like a hand with it?"

"But Jim, you –"

"I'm fine, mom. Really. Just tired. Nothing some sleep won't fix. You know how hospitals are – loud and bright, full of an army of doctors and nurses marching every which way and poking and prodding you with questions and hyposprays. There's no way you get to sleep for any substantial period of time . . . But if it would make you feel better, we can go back to the hospital together and I can get officially discharged – although Bones might give me a lecture and stick me into the regeneration chamber once more for good measure."

"I would like that very much," said Winona, smiling, as she stood up.

* * *

Harry stared at his godfather for a moment before moving towards him to embrace him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he found that his arms that went around Sirius' neck were much smaller.

Pulling away, he discovered that 'Sirius' was, in fact, his mother, sitting on the bed beside him and laughing.

"I know all your tricks, little man," she said. "It is now bed time."

He stared at her in confusion, and then down at the rest of his body. He was, indeed, a little boy, dressed in pyjamas with snitch patterns all over them. He glanced up and saw stars twinkle down from the ceiling. With every passing second, he could practically feel his mind changing and memories slipping away, his old life being replaced by this, new one.

"But mummy," Harry found himself saying, his voice thin and immature. "Just one more stowy. Pwease?"

Harry loved listening to his mother read – he loved her voice and the way she would conjure shadow figures on the wall as she read along, making the story time much more entertaining.

"Darling, I've already read you three. Tomorrow is another day."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment Lily suddenly gasped, placing a hand on her bulging stomach.

"Mummy?" asked Harry, his little voice concerned.

She smiled reassuringly, bringing her breathing under control. "I'm alright, darling. The baby is just saying hello."

"Can I say hello to the baby too?" Harry bounced on the bed excitedly, his mind no longer on the additional story he wanted his mother to read.

"Yes, you can."

"Hello, baby!" said Harry, wrapping his arms around his mother's abdomen and speaking into it. "I love you, baby!"

In response, he felt a slight movement and watched in fascination as Lily's rounded stomach bulged when the baby shifted position. A few moments later, the baby settled down.

"Well, I think the baby went to sleep," said Lily. "And so should you, little man."

He settled down and snuggled cozily under his blankets. "Okay, mummy. I go to sleep," he said, yawning.

Next instant, he was up again and putting his arms around Lily's neck. "I love you, mummy. Moe dan anyting."

Lily's responding smile was bright – brighter than the stars twinkling down from the ceiling – and full of adoration. "And I love you."

She tucked him in and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Extinguishing the candles, she quietly left his room, and Harry was soon fast asleep.

While he slept, years passed – all filled with happy memories of his childhood: the birth of his brother and sister, birthday and Christmas celebrations, gatherings of family and friends.

When he awoke, he was eleven, ready for his first ever trip on Hogwarts Express.

Someone knocked twice sharply at his bedroom door.

"Wake up, sleepy head!" his father called from the other side. "You'll be late for the train!"

Harry groaned, stretching his body. James knocked again.

"You can come in, Dad."

The door slowly creaked open and James' head peaked around it. "Ready for the big day, son?" he said cheerfully.

He walked over to the window and threw the curtains open, letting in the brilliant sunshine. Harry slammed his eyes shut and slowly squinted them open again.

"Up, up, up! Breakfast is ready." James started walking out of the room.

"Dad?" called Harry quietly.

The tone of his voice made James pause and walk back towards his bed. "What is it, Harry?" he asked with concern.

Harry sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. "I . . . er . . ."

James took a seat on the edge of the bed and waited patiently for Harry to speak.

"What if I'm not sorted into Gryffindor?" Harry blurted out. He'd spent half the night thinking about it.

"Then you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin," replied James in a light tone.

"But . . . but . . . You won't be upset? You won't – I don't know – disinherit me or something?"

"Why would I ever do such a thing?"

In response, Harry merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Harry, I'll be . . . I _am_ proud of you no matter what. Because you're my son, and I love you."

"I guess I just don't want to end up in Slytherin," Harry said miserably.

"Why? What's wrong with Slytherin?"

"Uncle Peter said they're bad. They're mean, and bully people."

"Look here, Harry. I won't deny that some Slytherins are indeed . . . er . . . not that good. But then, there are mean people in other houses too. Merlin knows, I'm not very proud of some stuff I did when I was younger . . ." He gave his head a slight shake. "You can't judge the entire House of Slytherin based on the actions of a few of its representatives, can you? I mean, look at Uncle Severus, for example. He's your mum's best friend, and you like him just fine, don't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose. Especially after he married Aunt Gladys," Harry added, grinning.

James grinned back and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately. "Stop worrying about the sorting ceremony. It'll be fine."

Harry nodded, feeling much better.

"Shall we get ready then?" James asked.

Harry nodded again. Then he suddenly embraced his father. "I . . . I love you, Dad," he choked out, feeling tears burning his eyes.

James returned the hug. "Hey now, no need to cry about the sorting ceremony," he said, sounding a bit confused. "It isn't that bad."

"It's . . . it isn't the sorting. I . . . I don't know. I just felt that I needed to tell you that I love you. Right this instant."

"And I love you, son." James placed a soft kiss on Harry's forehead and stood up to leave.

Harry picked up his glasses from the nightstand and put them on. "Er . . . Dad?"

James turned around, one hand on the door handle. "Yes?"

"You've got pigtails and hair clips on your head," said Harry, visibly fighting the laugh that was threatening to bubble out.

James reached up and pulled out colourful, flowery hair clips and pink rubber bands from his hair and burst out laughing. With his other hand, he attempted to smooth down his black hair that was sticking up every which way.

"Your sister decided to do my hair this morning," James explained. "I've forgotten these things were even there. Thanks!"

"You're welcome, Dad."

Harry blinked, and suddenly he was seventeen, standing in the kitchen and helping his mother with Christmas dinner. The sound of someone arriving via Floo, accompanied by booming laughter and squeals of delight, carried from the sitting room.

"I think Sirius and his family are here," said Lily, beaming. "Why don't you go and say hello, darling? I'll be there in a minute."

Harry didn't need to be told twice.

"Sirius!" He gave his godfather a bone crushing hug. "I missed you so much!"

Sirius laughed, returning the hug. "I missed you, too, Harry," he said, a slight note of sadness registering in his voice. "I missed you too."

Harry knew Sirius' job entailed a lot of travelling and was very time-consuming – even with the perks that being a wizard entailed. It was good to see him after so long.

Shortly thereafter Remus, Peter, and Severus arrived with their families. The Christmas dinner passed in much the same manner as it usually did every year – full of laughter, pranks, and merry noise.

Later on, Harry stood on the porch and admired the cloudless, starry skies. Sirius came up behind him and handed him a bottle of butterbeer.

"So, tell me about her," Sirius said without any preamble.

Harry choked on his butterbeer. "About who?"

"The girl you've been thinking about for half of the evening."

"I wasn't . . ." Harry started and gave up.

He knew it was useless. His godfather was very perceptive, and Harry himself was a terrible liar.

"It's no one. Really. It doesn't matter."

His godfather gave him a serious look. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Harry knew. Sirius was more like an older brother to him than a godfather, and sometimes Harry felt more comfortable talking to him about certain things than he did to his parents.

"Is everything alright?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine."

Sirius nodded, and they both sipped their butterbeers. Sounds of someone playing the piano and singing Christmas carols carried from somewhere in the village.

"Vlad told me there's some sort of dance coming up soon enough," said Sirius. Vlad was his son, six years Harry's junior, a Ravenclaw. "Why don't you invite her?"

"I can't. She's off limits."

"She's already seeing someone?"

"That's not it. It's just . . . er . . ."

"It's someone close to you, and you are terrified of messing things up."

Harry stared at him in shock. "How did you know?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. "Personal experience. Besides, I think I know exactly who you're talking about." He flashed his godson a grin.

Harry felt his face flush.

"You know that I met your Auntie Lara years before we actually got married, right? She came to Hogwarts for Triwizard Tournament as part of the Durmstrang delegation . . ."

Sirius launched into the story of how he and Lara had met, became friends, and – much, much later – finally started dating. Harry knew bits and pieces of the story, but not the whole thing, and certainly not all the drama and teenage stupidity involved. He had a hard time believing his now mature godfather was capable of all those things.

"We eventually sorted it out," said Sirius. "It took us ten years. Ten bloody years of dating the wrong people and hiding our true feelings for each other because we were too bloody afraid."

Harry smirked. "And you call yourself a Gryffindor?"

"Hey now, be nice," Sirius replied lightly. "Although, I reckon we all become cowardly lions when it comes to the matters of the heart."

In the distance, the clock at the center of the village square rang nine times. The bells stirred up the neighbourhood dogs, and a chain reaction of barks started up soon after.

"And what if she doesn't feel the same way about me?" Harry asked seriously. "I'll ruin everything."

"It's a possibility, yes. But you'll never know if you don't at least try. If you're really sure about your feelings and know exactly what you want, then do something about it. Trust me, sometimes it's better to regret something you've done, than something you wish you'd done. Sometimes life doesn't give us very many opportunities. It's better to take chances while you have them than spend the rest of your life with regret. What's life without a little risk?" finished with a wink and a smile.

"Sure, you say that _now_ ," Harry pointed out.

Sirius barked a laugh and drained the rest of his butterbeer.

"Her siblings might kill me if they find out," said Harry.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "They won't. I'm sure of it."

"I don't know . . . What do I do though?"

"Well, maybe invite her for that dance for starters? Just go as friends. See how she behaves. I can give you some pointers. Pay close attention, don't be an idiot like me – which, you aren't. I know you aren't."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"It's true," his godfather countered seriously. "At seventeen you have more wisdom and maturity than I had at twenty-five. You've got your wonderful parents to thank for that."

"And you," Harry added sincerely.

Sirius merely grinned widely in thanks.

Thick fog suddenly rolled in. Harry vaguely thought it was familiar – like a dream or déjà vu. And then he was in a place with lilac-coloured skies, standing near a tall, pyramid-like building. Amerisis stood beside him, smiling. Initially, he couldn't even remember how he knew her name.

Then his old memories came flooding in, but the new ones still remained. It was all very confusing.

He stumbled backwards, rubbing his forehead. "What the bloody hell did you do?" he asked, his anger flaring.

The experience was jarring, to say the least – to get to live his dreams of family only to be pulled away from it all so abruptly.

"Harry, you need to calm down –"

"Calm down? I won't bloody calm down! Is this all some sick game to you?"

Amerisis tilted her head, and suddenly a wave of calm washed over him.

"And stop doing that! You don't get to control my emotions. You don't get to mess with people's heads like that!"

"I was only trying to help," she replied, her voice infuriatingly calm.

"Then perhaps you should explain things and _ask_ first before moving people from place to place like they are some inanimate objects, and not just assume things!" He ran his hands through his hair before forcefully shoving them into his pockets. "I'm done with this shite. I want to see Hermione, and I want us to get out of here."

He didn't want to spend any more time on this planet. At least on Earth – even though it wasn't their Earth in their time – they had some control over what they did and where they went.

Amerisis watched him patiently, as if he were a child throwing a temper tantrum, and nodded. "Walk with me."

She turned and started walking down the path that led away from the tall building. Harry sighed in exasperation and reluctantly fell into step beside her. It wasn't like he could go anywhere else.

"What exactly happened to me anyway?" he asked grumpily. "What was that place?"

"It has many names," Amerisis replied. "You may call it the Realm of Wish Fulfillment."

"Just as I suspected then – none of it was real."

"Oh, it was very real indeed. Reality is subjective there, but everything and everyone is just as real as you. And the others were there for the same reason as you."

"What reason is that?"

"Many who pass from the screen of life go there for closure and for the fulfillment of unrealized desires in life. It is especially true for those whose lives were cut short due to an accident or murder. It is a realm where an individual can heal before continuing their journey."

"But . . . I wasn't dead."

"No, you were not. But your short life has been filled with much hardship, and I felt that you could benefit from the healing that the Realm offered."

"I still don't understand. If I'm not dead, then how –"

"You are more than just your physical body, Harry," said Amerisis, but didn't elaborate any further.

A small, purple bird-like creature with four wings circled around Harry, letting out chirping sounds. He held out a hand, and the creature perched on it briefly before flying away.

"You will soon have no conscious memories of your time in that Realm," said Amerisis. "The entire experience will remain in your subconscious mind, offering feelings of peace and contentment."

Indeed, Harry already found that to be true – to a great degree.

"As you are aware," Amerisis continued, "emotions play a big role in one's ability to access their magic. Your experiences there will help you realize your full potential. At least, that is my hope for you."

"How long was I there?" he asked. "It felt like a lifetime."

He didn't immediately think about it, but now that he was more calm and collected, he realized that he had no idea how much time had actually passed outside that Realm of Wish Fulfilment. Did it flow at the same rate? Faster? Slower? He worried about Hermione and about what had happened to her while he was gone.

"Time there is relative. It can pass as slowly or as quickly as is required, depending on each individual case. You need not worry about your friend. For her, you have been absent for a very short time."

Harry was silent as he contemplated everything that had happened.

"You know," he said finally, "I have to work really hard not to hex you right now. But I have a feeling I wouldn't succeed even if I tried, and I'd just end up wasting my time and energy."

"You have already wasted a lot of energy by getting angry," she pointed out.

"Angry?" Harry let out a bitter laugh. " 'Angry' doesn't even _begin_ to cover what I'm feeling right now."

Amerisis merely looked at him with an unreadable expression and continued walking.

Harry clenched his teeth and curled his hands into fists. "So what now? Are we supposed to just forget everything that had happened to us – our old life – and move on just like that?" he finished, snapping his fingers.

"No, not forget. Never forget. Your past makes you who you are today. I know that this is not what you wanted or expected for yourselves. But sometimes the best things in life are those which are unplanned."

"Yeah. And the worst things, too."

"You may not believe me when I say that I understand how you feel, but please believe that we have your best interests in mind. Always."

Harry scoffed. "Kinda hard to believe that when you say you brought us here to fight some war."

"People believe what they wish to believe. They are often too quick to jump to conclusions, pass judgement, make assumptions," she said with frustrating serenity.

"And I did not say anything about fighting a war," she continued. "In fact, a galactic war is what we've been trying to avoid by bringing you two here. There is a threat, yes. But we believe that it can be eliminated before it comes to that."

Harry took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he observed a few butterfly-like creatures fly by. A memory flashed through his mind – of him and his father chasing after butterflies on the meadow. The few remaining memories of that Realm were already becoming very hazy, slipping away into his subconscious.

 _Just as well_ , decided Harry. _I might lose my mind otherwise._

Although he still felt upset, it was good to know that at least his loved ones were safe and happy.

"Sirius, my parents, and the others in that Realm of Wish Fulfillment . . . They're still there, right?" he asked, just to confirm.

Amerisis nodded. "They require a little more time for healing. For them, time is passing much, much slower than it did for you."

"You said they'd be continuing their journey. Where will they go next?"

"Even the wisest cannot tell. I only know that it will be a _grand_ adventure," she finished with a smile.

* * *

"Please," said Hermione, pacing before the dining table. "There's got to be _something_ you can do to send at least Harry back alive."

"I cannot," replied Amerisis calmly.

"Cannot or will not?"

"Both."

Hermione stopped pacing and stared at her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to lash out at this powerful being who transported them across time and dimensions. Not that she wasn't grateful that she and Harry were alive, but the idea of never seeing their loved ones again and having the one responsible standing right in front of her made her fear she might do something stupid.

 _Harry and I would have been dead otherwise_ , she had to remind herself for the umpteenth time.

Collecting herself as best as she could, she took a deep breath. "Look, if there is some sacrifice you need or something –"

Amerisis shook her head firmly, cutting her off, "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me!"

"You will not understand. It would be like . . . attempting to explain quantum physics to a kindergarten student. Your mind, as brilliant as it is, is unable to grasp such concepts."

Hermione stumbled a step backwards, feeling insulted.

"No finite mind can." Amerisis continued, as if hearing her thoughts, "I mean no insult."

Hermione turned away from her to stare out the window. A few gnomes were playing some kind of a game, chasing each other and stumbling and falling in the process. They looked so adorable and carefree, that Hermione smiled despite herself.

"It is easy to get angry when one does not understand everything," said Amerisis gently, coming up behind her. "When one does not see the bigger picture."

Hermione kept her gaze on the gnomes. This was it. She would never again see Ron or her parents . . .

Familiar sense of guilt overwhelmed her every time she thought of her parents, and she doubted it would ever go away. She'd modified her parents' memories and sent them off to Australia without their permission. She had wanted to keep them alive and safe, and spare them the grief of losing yet another child. They had been at war, yes, and desperate measures had seemed like her only option, but that still didn't excuse her actions. It was still morally wrong, and it was something that she had to live with for the rest of her life. It was yet another action taken for 'the greater good' – the words that Hermione had grown to hate over the years.

"They have forgiven you," said Amerisis, no doubt hearing her thoughts. "A long time ago. Now you need to forgive yourself."

"You know," Hermione began slowly, "that . . . that's really creepy – you getting inside my head like that." She'd been attempting to use her Occlumency skills during this entire time with no success, it would appear. "And I know it's like breathing to you and you can't really stop it, but still . . ."

Hermione shook off her unease with the alien situation, and made herself return to the original issue; she knew that her parents had forgiven her. After she had reversed the spell and explained everything to them, they'd refused to speak with her for weeks. Her mother had been very vocal in her anger, but it was nothing compared to the look in her father's eyes – intense hurt, disappointment, and betrayal. It had taken months for them to finally forgive her and agree to move back to England.

In retrospect, it had been a stupid decision. She should have left them in Australia until the Death Eaters were no longer a threat. They could have continued to live as Wendell and Monica Wilkins and never known the grief of losing their only daughter. She'd wondered what happened to them and hoped that they'd been able to find peace, even if it took them awhile to get there.

"It was difficult, but they had each other for support," Amerisis replied to her silent query. "Eventually, they decided to leave England and start a new life in Canada. They adopted two boys. A year later, they were blessed with another child of their own. Would you like to see them?"

Hermione sharply turned towards her. Was that a real question? Of course she did!

"You may not be able to actually speak with them face-to-face, because they have long since continued their journey and are unreachable to us, but I could take you to the Keeper of Scrolls," said Amerisis. "He keeps a record of everything everywhere."

Hermione nodded, and next instant she found herself in a vast room that vaguely reminded her of the Hall of Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries – full of nothing but towering shelves covered in what looked like scrolls of glowing parchment. The room could have easily been miles and miles long in any direction, its ceiling was lost to view.

A tall man with golden hair and vibrant blue-violet eyes approached them and silently handed a scroll to Amerisis with a slight bow of his head. The lady offered a similar bow in response. The next instant, he was gone, and Amerisis held the scroll out in front of herself.

The parchment glowed brighter, then disappeared; Hermione felt her feet leave the floor. She was falling, falling through whirling whiteness – and then, quite suddenly, she was blinking in a room filled with sunlight.

It was very similar to being inside a Pensieve. First, she observed her parents chasing after two little paint-covered boys. Then they were cradling a baby as the two boys circled around, kissing the baby's hands and cheeks. Then they were taking a family trip to a place that Hermione recognized as Lake Louise located in Banff National Park in the Canadian Rockies. Her father had often spoken of it with fondness after visiting the place in his childhood. More memories followed of their busy, happy life with three children before Hermione found herself in the vast room once more.

She took a shuddering breath and turned to Amerisis who was holding the scroll in her hands once more.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, blinking furiously and willing herself not to cry. "I feel better knowing that they've been able to find happiness."

Amerisis smiled, and Hermione found herself in the garden by Amerisis' house once more.

Hermione clenched her fists tightly, trying to use the pain of her nails digging into her skin to keep her grounded.

"Could you at least give a warning or something before transporting me?" she said, her irritation seeping into her voice. "It's really disorienting."

"I will keep that in mind, dear one."

They walked in silence for a few moments, observing the flowers and the various creatures.

"I believe this belongs to you," said Amerisis holding out Hermione's engagement ring.

Hermione stopped in her tracks and swallowed, moving a shaky hand to pick up her ring.

A memory suddenly floated to the forefront of her mind.

 _["I really hate this penguin suit," Ron complained, standing in front of a floor length mirror and fiddling with his bow tie._

" _It's called a tuxedo, love," Hermione called from the lavatory, taming the last of her wild curls._

" _Whatever," Ron grumbled. "I look ridiculous."_

 _Hermione poked her head out of the loo and eyed him appreciatively. "Trust me, Ron. You don't look ridiculous. You look quite dashing," she finished, grinning._

 _Ron beamed at her and turned back to the mirror, his expression souring. "Still. This bow tie is choking me."_

" _Sorry, love," Hermione said, "but you have to wear it because it's my mum's birthday and she wanted to go to the opera, and you can't very well go there in your robes, can you? Unless, of course, you'd like me to go alone?"_

" _Not bloody likely."_

 _There were a few moments of silence, and then Hermione heard Ron mutter something_ – _most likely more complaining or swearing, but she couldn't make it out through the rustling of the fabric of her dress._

" _Sorry, what did you say?" she inquired. "I didn't catch that."_

" _Nothing!" Ron answered quickly. "I said you look gorgeous, love."_

" _Do I now?" Hermione asked playfully, emerging from the loo in a shimmering navy blue gown that bared one of her shoulders._

 _She knew full well that Ron wasn't being entirely truthful with her and she even considered calling him out on it, but she was in too good of a mood to start a silly argument because of that._

" _Would you be so kind and zip me up, my good sir?"_

 _Ron swallowed and blinked rapidly, his cheek colouring. "You really do look gorgeous."_

" _Always the tone of surprise," she replied, smiling softly._

 _He ran the palm of his hand over her bare shoulder. "When do we have to leave?"_

" _Oh no, don't even think about it," she said, wagging her index finger at him and ignoring the invitation. "I just spent two hours fixing my hair, and I won't risk messing it up."_

" _I promise to be careful. 'Sides, there was nothing wrong with your hair beforehand."_

" _Liar," she said, beaming at him._

 _He kept on staring at her._

" _So, how about that zipper?" she prodded._

 _He snapped out of his daze. "Right. Happy to help."_

 _Hermione let out a giggle._

 _Quickly having done with the zipper, Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his chin down on her bare shoulder. They stared at their reflections in the mirror for a few moments, and then, out of the blue, Ron whispered, "I will love you for the rest of my life."_

 _She turned in his arms and looked at him seriously, one hand caressing his cheek._

 _It was out before she knew what she was saying. "Just love me for the rest of mine."_

 _Before she could properly think about what she'd said, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.]_

Much later, after she and Harry had gone through the Veil, Hermione would mentally go through this memory and realize that she was actually encouraging and giving him permission to move on if something ever happened to her. With the threat of Death Eaters still hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles, she'd attempted to have this conversation with Ron on numerous occasions, but each time was unsuccessful – either the circumstances or Ron himself halting the discussion before they could reach any type of understanding.

She didn't want his promises of eternal love (those types of promises were hard to keep in a peaceful world, much less in a world where they were still being hunted) – she wanted him to be happy. With or without her.

"He did find happiness," said Amerisis. "Eventually. And so did Ginny."

"Good," said Hermione in a shaky voice, cradling the ring against her chest.

Even though she was still in the process of coming to terms with never seeing them again, she found that she felt genuinely happy for them. The thought of her loved ones in pain because of their absence had been tearing at her for months.

Amerisis slowly nodded and gave her a meaningful look.

"I know. You don't have to say it. I have to let him go too," Hermione said quietly, putting the ring on her finger. It was still far too big – which made sense now that she knew Ron was long dead.

She stared at the ring for a long moment, then sighed before taking it off and stringing it through her necklace once more.

"Hermione!"

She turned around to see her best friend nearly running towards her. He looked flustered, almost angry.

"Harry! Are you alright?" she asked, studying his face.

Harry nodded and gave her a hug. "You?"

"Fine," she replied, returning the hug.

"Good. We're leaving."

He turned towards Amerisis and gave her a meaningful look.

"Prepare yourselves." With that, Amerisis turned on her heel and started walking. In a matter of seconds, Harry and Hermione found themselves back in the meadow – transported back there the same way that they had originally left it.

Hermione wondered whether there was some sort of significance to this meadow – some sort of weak spot in the space-time continuum that these beings could manipulate? Why did they first arrive there and why did they have to be here again to go back?

"We will meet again," said Amerisis, turning to them with a smile. "But I would like to use the famous Terran proverb as my final advice to you: ' _Speak softly and carry a big stick.'_ "

Then she lifted her hands, palms up, and suddenly a familiar vortex reappeared.

"One more thing," said Amerisis. "Names have power. You know mine. Don't forget to use it, and I'll do what I can."

Before they could ask any more questions, they found themselves in the vortex once more.

* * *

 _ **San Francisco, California, Earth**_

Nyota had never before visited the Memorial Garden on Academy grounds at night. It was otherworldly, illuminated haphazardly by tiny lights that were threaded through the foliage and wrapped around several pieces of sculpture positioned near the benches as though to mimic the stars. Footpaths were marked by solar-powered lamps rooted on their borders.

Nyota had run into Kirk as she left the Language Building, and they'd decided to catch up on the latest news and developments after the attack on Dolvia VII. They were sitting on the bench by the sketia tree (it seemed to be Kirk's favourite spot), when blinding white light suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

As the light dissipated and Nyota's vision cleared, she saw two familiar figures. She exchanged a look with Kirk to confirm that she wasn't hallucinating. He looked tense, his fists clenched, eyes wide.

"You know, Harry, I'm not overly fond of this method of travelling," said Hermione after a few moments, holding onto Harry and looking as if she might fall.

"Oh, my God!" Nyota exclaimed in disbelief, one hand flying to her mouth, as tears of relief rushed to her eyes. Her friends really were back!

"Nyota?" asked Hermione uncertainly, her eyes clearly still adjusting to the dim lighting.

Kirk was on his feet before Hermione finished speaking. He reached her in a few long strides and enveloped her in a firm embrace.

"James?"

"You're _alive_ ," Kirk whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck – as if trying to hide his turbulent emotions – and breathing her in. "Thank the stars you're alive."

"Well, yes, but . . ." Hermione hesitated a moment before looping her arms around his neck to return the hug, then attempted to pull away. "James," she said weakly. "You might want to let me go. I might throw up on you or something."

Kirk didn't let her go, although he loosened his hold on her. "I don't care, _sweetheart._ "

That single word held so much emotion that Nyota felt like an interloper and quickly looked away. She walked towards Harry and gave him a brief, bone crushing hug.

"It so good to see you again, Harry," she told him with a smile, wiping a tear.

Harry looked somewhat bewildered at her welcome. "Thanks, Nyota. Likewise."

"Are you okay? Where have you been?! We've been worried sick. We didn't even know whether you were alive!"

"What? Why?"

Harry's gaze flicked between Nyota and the still-embracing pair before switching his attention to their surroundings. His brow was furrowed and he looked confused as he eyed the vegetation in the Garden.

"Nyota, how long have we been gone for?"

Nyota gave him a look and opened her mouth to answer his question.

Kirk beat her to it. "Almost a month!"

* * *

A/N. Anyone else felt like hexing Amerisis? I hope nothing was confusing in this chapter.

Also, I'd like to clear something up: Amerisis is _not_ a Q. The Q will show up, but much later. For now, the story is completely Q-Less :)

Thank you for reading!


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

Huge thanks to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for helping me smooth out all the rough parts in this chapter. She's a gem :) Feel free to find her under my "Favourite Authors" and check out her stories.

* * *

Chapter 24

 _ **July 5, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth**_

Harry and Hermione's apartment was pretty neat, but spartan, with very little to indicate that someone actually lived here: a stack of PADDs on the desk, a black sweater (Harry's, judging by the size of it) over the back of a chair, like the open wings of a settling vulture. It was very obvious to Jim that his friends had been counting on finding a way home – they hadn't wanted to settle in.

They were discussing things over a cup of tea and some food they'd picked up on the way at Chekov's roommate's favourite bakery. Both Harry and Hermione seemed pretty shaken up by everything that had happened to them on that planet, and Jim and Uhura wanted to keep them company.

"I still can't believe you guys just went through that . . . portal," said Jim, shaking his head in disapproval.

Jim had a feeling that his friends weren't telling him and Uhura everything that had happened while they were gone. He could see the glances they exchanged as they spoke – silent messages that no one else was privy to. After years of friendship and being through so much together, he supposed that this type of communication was to be expected.

"You could have died," Jim said. "You could have ended up in an entirely different universe with no guarantee that it would even be livable! The point is – it was dangerous!"

"Says the man who didn't think twice about beaming aboard a ship travelling at warp speed using a previously untested formula," retorted Hermione, cradling her tea mug.

Jim stared at the two friends and opened his mouth to counter them, but decided against it. After all, he would have likely done the same thing had he been in their situation.

"It was our only chance," said Harry. "We had to at least try."

Jim exhaled and nodded, deciding to drop the subject. What was done was done, and there wasn't really any point in arguing about it. Moreover, both of his friends looked like they didn't want to discuss the matter any further.

" _I cannot help but notice that these witch and wizard have something in common with you,"_ he remembered Spock Prime telling him on Delta Vega. " _They seem to have a similar instinct to leap without looking. Few possess it."_

Leap without looking, indeed.

"Well, I'm just really glad you're both okay and that you're back," said Uhura cheerfully in what was no doubt an attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction.

She looked to Harry. "When you didn't show up that morning as we had agreed, I tried reaching you and Hermione, but nothing worked. I went to see Pike, to find out if he knew anything, and learned about the huge energy surge in the Sciences Building the night before. It left every building sharing the same power grid completely dark."

"Really?" asked Harry, surprised.

Uhura nodded. "They had to completely replace parts of the power relay system, including emergency backups."

"They analyzed the energy signature and found it to be identical to the one your wands emit," added Jim.

"Ooops," said Harry, looking a bit guilty.

"That shouldn't have happened," said Hermione, her gaze slightly unfocused as she twirled a lock of her hair. "One of the runes that I engraved was supposed to ensure that the transparent aluminum would sooner disintegrate than cause an energy surge. I'd have to check our research to figure out what caused it."

"Does it really matter?" asked Jim. "I mean, it's not like it's gonna happen again – unless you guys plan to go back to that planet?"

"No," said Hermione, locking eyes with Jim. "Of course not."

She no doubt detected his inner turmoil – she was remarkably perceptive to certain things and completely blind to others. He'd been trying to keep his emotions in check, since he didn't want to make things even more difficult for his friends; not when they had just learned, with absolute certainty, that their home was lost to them forever. He had an idea what that felt like after his brief mind-meld with Spock Prime.

If Jim was being honest with himself, his attempts to control his emotions weren't being entirely successful. Only a few hours may have passed for the two friends on that planet (according to Hermione anyway, since Harry confessed that his perception of the passage of time was skewed), but for him and the others on Earth it had been twenty-eight days!

Uhura cleared her throat and continued, "Anyway, from there, we went to look for some clues in your lab and your apartment, but were unable to get in."

"That'd be the wards," said Hermione, tearing her gaze away from Jim's.

"It's just a precaution," explained Harry. "We are still pretty new to this world, and there are a lot of things about it that we don't know. So, we thought better be safe than sorry. Constant vigilance, remember?"

"Indeed," replied Uhura, smiling.

"It was really weird," said Jim. "Every time someone tried to get in here or into the lab, they'd suddenly remember some urgent thing they had to do and leave."

"Modified Muggle-Repelling Charm," Hermione explained. "Only works when someone tries to get in without our knowledge or consent."

"I think they even tried beaming in to no avail," said Uhura, amused.

"Let me guess, they beamed right outside the doors?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, they did," confirmed Jim.

"Does that mean we would have never found out what had actually happened to you if you didn't get back?" wondered Uhura.

"Not necessarily," replied Harry. "The wards would have eventually deteriorated. Can't be sure as to the exact length of time, though. I suppose we've done a pretty good job casting them," he finished sheepishly.

"What will you tell Starfleet?" asked Uhura. "I'm sure there will be a lot of questions."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a long look, and another silent conversation passed between them. Jim was almost tempted to call them out on it.

"The truth," Harry finally replied, shrugging his shoulders. "There's no point in lying, is there?"

Jim eyed him for a moment, certain that he was being honest – but equally certain that his definition of lying to Starfleet didn't include lies of omission. In the end though, he couldn't begrudge his friends wanting to keep some things close to the chest.

Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. The occasional tapping of raindrops on the window turned into an endless string of percussion – like an old radio coming to life.

"So, what happened here while we were gone?" asked Harry, breaking the silence.

Uhura shifted in her seat on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. "Well, we passed our exams and graduated. It was more of a formality than anything. Just a quiet day spent with family and friends. We already knew that there wouldn't be any official ceremony like in previous years, given how many of the graduating class we lost because of Nero," she said bitterly. "Plus, there were some other more recent events to consider."

"What events?" asked Harry.

Instead of replying, Uhura simply looked to Jim.

"After the last exam was over," he began, "Starfleet sent several groups of cadets on short recruiting trips – it's something that we do a couple of times a year. The current cadets meet with potential students to make a pitch for a career in Starfleet. It became especially necessary since our numbers took such a heavy cut."

He told them how the sensor array on Dolvia VII had malfunctioned, and it had been decided to send the _Constellation_ to render assistance. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, the Academy had also sent a group of cadets – Jim and Bones among them – along with Captain Pike to this very colony, to make presentations about their own experiences at Starfleet and hold information sessions for potential recruits.

He told them about standing in the back of the room with Pike, listening to cadet Johansen's presentation as she described her xenolinguistic studies, when out of the corner of his eyes he had seen something materialize just a few feet away from him. One glance at the object, and he had realized it was a bomb, counting down time before the inevitable explosion.

He told them about his split-second decision (– _a bomb – alien design – can't safely disarm – gotta move_ ) to pick up the bomb and run – away from all those people.

He told them about running down the hallway, ready to break the far window and throw the bomb until he saw a group of people clustered around a few cadets just outside.

He told them about the two doors he'd noticed to his left – one simple wooden one and another, further down, metal service door, and how he had debated what might be on the other side. The wooden door most likely had led to another meeting room – which would mean another presentation might be there, but the metal door had looked more utilitarian. He had chosen that door, surveyed the room behind it, and discovered some supplies and a single maintenance bot in it. He had quickly placed the bomb inside the bot (into the space designed for collecting trash before taking it to one of the matter reclamation units), hoping that the metal it was made of would help dampen the explosion.

He told them about closing the door and running away from the room, leading anyone he had encountered away from the area.

He told them about his next memory – only a few seconds later – when he had found himself on the other side of the hallway, parts of the wall and shards of glass raining down on him, his body covering Pike's. After that he had blacked out and briefly woken up in the Medbay of the _Constellation_. Next time he had come to, he had been in Starfleet Medical, Bones' anxious face hovering over him.

What he did _not_ tell anyone was what else he had thought about in those seconds after he had picked up the bomb and rushed and considered and made decisions.

He did not disclose that underneath his determination and reasoning, he had been consumed by a myriad of emotions: fear, anger, loneliness, regret, and sadness – a sadness that he'd never felt before – about his own death and his certainty that he was about to die. Certainly, this hadn't been his first brush with death, but this time seemed to be different – and he couldn't explain why. He'd only felt that after all the years of barely existing, he had finally started _living_ , and that he really didn't want to die.

He did not tell them that part of his mind had begun to relive his time with his friends, and Hermione specifically, even as he was running down the hall – each shift of the symbols on the bomb's display having the potential to be the last, _his_ last – and closing the doors and bracing himself for the explosion. Like watching a crazy, out-of-sync holovid, he had seen Hermione nibbling on her bottom lip as she worked on some complex mathematical problem; he had seen her doubling over to catch her breath and letting out a small noise of exasperation – her cheeks flushed, a few wild curls escaping her ponytail – as she attempted to catch up to him and Harry during their morning runs; he had seen the sparkle in her eyes and her easy laughter every time he'd made a joke.

Jim doubted that there was a person alive who had never reflected on death at least once – picking up its ghastly scent in a dark corner of their existence, or enduring it through the passing of a loved one. He wondered if everyone else found it such a revealing experience; the incident had given him much to consider, brought to light things about himself that he hadn't known yet. In all honesty, his recovery from the explosion had taken a lot less time than his struggle to sort through his new perspective.

Jim looked up and noticed snowflakes drifting down from the ceiling in a lazy path, dropping upon them and the sparse furniture. He held out a hand in fascination and disbelief – the downy puffs melted as soon as they made contact with his skin.

"Hermione?" Harry addressed his friend with concern. "You're making it snow."

"Oh. I'm – I'm sorry," she said, her voice hitching, and the snow immediately ceased falling.

She reached for the teapot and busied herself with refilling all of their cups. Jim noticed her hands were shaking slightly.

"Excuse me, please," she said evenly, rising to her feet and heading for the kitchen. "I'll go get more tea."

Jim stood and wordlessly followed her.

* * *

Harry and Nyota exchanged a glance, as Jim and Hermione disappeared into the kitchen.

"So," said Harry slowly after a few moments of silence. "I'm sorry again about missing our appointment that day."

Nyota waved him off. "It's okay. I'm just glad that you and Hermione are back safely. We were starting to fear that we'd never see you again."

Harry smiled apologetically as he ran a hand through his hair. He honestly didn't want to talk about their time with Amerisis anymore – he was still upset about the entire situation. So he decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"So, er . . . That transmission," he began. "The one from the _Hercules_ . . . Did you already talk to Pike about it?"

"I did."

"And?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

She sighed. "He did a rudimentary search in the archives using his access codes – which didn't turn up much; but to be fair, he seemed to have a lot on his mind at the time and was pretty distracted. He said he'd get back to me after a more thorough search, but then stuff happened, and we all had better things to worry about than a transmission from a ship that's been missing for over a century."

Harry nodded, a bit put out that his latest mystery – or rather, distraction – might be put on hold. "Do you still want to pursue the matter further?"

"I do," confirmed Nyota. "I still want to get to the bottom of the mystery of the _Hercules_ – and I _will_ do it. But I have to prioritize. I've been really busy lately – we all have – assisting with classes and new recruits. There's been a flood of them.

"I have a sneaking suspicion that some of it has to do with Kirk and all the attention that the media has been giving him. You should've seen the turn up at Dolvia VII when it was announced that Kirk would be there." She chuckled. "He's a hero."

Harry shuddered slightly, remembering the time right after the War when he and Ron had signed up for their Auror training – a lot of young witches and wizards wanted to be Aurors as well, just like The Savior of the Wizarding World. His popularity had grown ridiculously, bolstered by the Wizarding World's penchant for extremes of opinion; it had reached the point where it became fashionable to wear glasses just like his, or even worse, utilize charms to make your hair black and messy.

Harry gave his head a slight shake in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable memories. "Were the Klingons really the ones responsible for the attack on that colony?" he asked.

Nyota shrugged her shoulders. "The investigation is still ongoing. If the higher-ups know something, they're not disclosing it yet."

Harry nodded, and they settled into a companionable silence, eating some cookies and sipping at their tea. He was thankful that Jim and Nyota had decided to stay with them tonight – they were a very good distraction after the most recent developments – and that they'd agreed to keep things quiet for one evening. Tomorrow morning, he and Hermione would have to let everyone else know that they were alive and answer questions; they'd also have to discuss everything and make decisions regarding their future. Hermione might even want to create a list of sorts, outlining all of their options and pros and cons of each – she was very efficient like that.

But not just yet.

"Did you already get your assignments?" Harry inquired, remembering that they were supposed to get them after graduation.

Nyota shook her head. "Not yet. We still have to pass our psych evaluations next week."

"Still hoping to get assigned to the _Enterprise_?"

More than once Nyota had told him and Hermione about her trip as a first-year cadet to the Riverside shipyard – and her instant, abiding love for the _Enterprise._ It had been skeletal and incomplete then, but scheduled for launch at almost the same time that Nyota would be graduating from the Academy. Both ready for assignment. Ever since that trip Nyota's goal – to become a communications officer on the _Enterprise_ – had always been like an unwavering star. She'd become even more determined after working on it a few months ago – for however brief period of time.

She smiled brightly. "As never before."

"Have the repairs been completed, then?" Harry asked, marvelling at how quickly this future's technology could accomplish such a thing.

"I can't really say with absolute certainty, but I think so, since Scotty's back on Earth. I saw him a few days ago in the cafeteria, frazzled and loudly arguing his point about some equation."

Harry laughed. "Yup. That's Scotty for you."

Nyota laughed as well. "I've also heard the scuttlebutt on campus that Pike's already decided on the crew – it's just that the assignments haven't been given out yet."

Harry nodded, feeling suddenly sad, but doing his best to mask it. They'd just gotten back, and their friends would likely be leaving soon to explore the galaxy. He didn't really have any doubts that they would get their assignments to the _Enterprise_ – and they would deserve it. They might be young and lacking in experience, but they'd already proven how very capable they were.

Willing himself to be happy for them, he changed the subject yet again. "So, tell me more about these classes that you've been helping to teach? Advanced Phonology and Advanced Acoustical Engineering, was it?"

* * *

The kitchen was silent while Hermione cleaned out the teapot (the 'Muggle way' as she would call it), and Jim filled the kettle and placed it on the thermal unit.

After a few moments of awkward silence, they turned towards each other and started speaking simultaneously.

"Sweetheart, are you –"

"James, how are –"

They smiled at each other, awkwardness evaporating.

"Ladies first," Jim said, gesturing for her to speak.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, placing the teapot on the countertop.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Fine, I guess. Much better now that you guys are back. The past few weeks were . . . difficult. Bones has been great, though. He sometimes has a weird way of showing support, but at least he's there – as much as he can be anyway, what with all the work he's been doing for the hospital . . . He's gonna be real happy to see you again. You're still gonna volunteer at the hospital, right?"

Despite her busy schedule, Hermione had somehow managed to regularly carve out a few hours most weekends (usually when Harry was busy kicking butt in hand-to-hand combat training) to volunteer at the hospital and learn. Bones had been more than happy to teach her all about their brand of medicine, saying that it was always nice to have an extra pair of hands to treat injuries – especially for when those Parrises Squares and Zero G football players ended up hurting themselves during their regular weekend games.

"Of course. I'd love to," she said with a small smile, pulling out the tea canister from the cupboard and scooping some of the loose leaves into the pot. "I have an abundance of time on my hands now."

Jim picked up on the slight change in her tone as she said the last part. She quickly changed the subject.

"Were you able to see your family?"

Jim nodded. "My mom's been here. Sam and his wife too. They came for the graduation and left just yesterday, actually." He ran a hand through his hair before shoving his hands into his pockets. "We've been all getting reacquainted. Well, mom, Sam, and I. I've never met Aurelan before, so . . . Things were – uh – a bit awkward sometimes, but I think we're good. Really, really good."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Actually, Sam and Aurelan are expecting their first child, so I'm going to be an uncle," he said with a small smile.

She leaned against the countertop and smiled back. "James, that's wonderful! I'm very happy for them – and for you."

Jim's smile widened as he came to stand beside her. "Thank you."

She turned to face him and pursed her lips as she carefully studied him. "Have you been sleeping at all? You look something dreadful."

"Thanks," he replied, rolling his eyes.

Hermione reached up and tried to smooth down his tousled hair. He was tempted to close his eyes at the gesture, but forced himself to keep them open.

"Your hair's shorter," she noted.

He was about to say that some of it had been singed when that bomb had exploded and they'd had to cut it at the hospital, but it was obvious from the look on her face that she'd already deduced as much.

"Have you decided to compete with Harry for the title of 'The Man with the Messiest Hair'?" she teased.

His face broke into a smile. "Something like that. Think I've got a chance?"

She pretended to think for a moment. "Doubtful."

"Aw, but I don't like losing!" he mock-pouted, eliciting a chuckle from her.

The tea kettle started to bubble in the background.

Jim smiled back, glad to hear that she was still able to laugh, before his face became serious again. "Truthfully, I've been having hard time sleeping ever since . . . Well, you know. And when I _do_ manage to get some sleep, I keep having nightmares. Bones has been giving me something to help, but I can't have it every night because it's addictive. Plus, it doesn't take away the nightmares." He paused for a heartbeat. "You don't have a magical concoction to help me sleep, do you?" he asked, joking.

Hermione gave him a long look. Then she walked over to the cabinet on the far side of the kitchen, unlocked it with a wave of her wand, and pulled out a phial of purple liquid.

"Potion for Dreamless Sleep," she said, handing it to him. "Take two tablespoons before bed for starters, but you might have to increase the dosage. I'll monitor you tonight to make sure you don't have any type of allergic reaction. It's generally well tolerated, but you never know."

He stared at her, astounded. "I – I can't take it," he said, handing the phial back to her. "You said that you can't brew most of your potions here, and I don't want to –"

"If that's your only concern, then take it," she said, closing his fingers around it. "It doesn't do anyone any good just sitting in that cupboard. Just don't take it more than three times a week, because you can become dependent on it. Plus, the potion inhibits your ability to have REM sleep. Lack of REM sleep leads to fatigue, loss of concentration, extreme irritability, hostility, and ultimately, insanity. You _need_ to dream, even if it is the nightmares that you see, and . . ."

Jim watched her talk, only half-listening, and a wave of gratitude welled up in his chest. Hermione trailed off and gave him a questioning look.

"I missed you, you know," he told her quietly, setting the phial on the countertop.

In truth, he'd felt her absence everywhere – in the empty chair at what had become 'their' table in the cafeteria, in the near-silence of the library. More than once he had thought he'd seen her at the end of a crowded corridor, only to have it turn out to be someone else as he drew closer. He could hardly believe that losing someone he had known for only a few months could feel like losing a part of himself, that it could make food taste wrong and colours seem dull.

The tea kettle began to hiss with steam, the whistling low at first, but growing exponentially in volume with each passing moment.

Jim stared at the smattering of freckles – which Bones had teasingly nicknamed her for – across her cheeks and nose, and almost instinctively lifted a hand to tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear. He did it gently, meditatively – the way he had imagined it for some time.

Her gaze trained on his eyes, Hermione blinked several times but didn't say anything for a long while. The sound of the kettle grew shrill and uncomfortable.

She drew a sharp breath, her gaze almost reluctantly drifting towards the shrieking kettle. Making her way towards the thermal unit, she turned it off.

"I'm sorry that we left like that, without any notice," she said, pouring the hot water into the teapot and closing the lid.

Jim studied her. She appeared somehow smaller, her shoulders bowed, as if straining beneath some invisible weight. Something inside him broke a little.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

She took a shuddering breath but didn't say anything, looking down at the teapot.

"Sorry, that was a really dumb question, wasn't it?"

"No, it's fine," she replied in a determined tone – although it was betrayed by her voice cracking slightly. "I just have a lot to process."

Jim understood that. After all, he'd had a lot of _processing_ to do lately as well.

Her eyes were shining with a thick gleam of tears as she looked up at him with a forced smile. "I'm just . . . glad to finally have _some_ answers, at least. It's better to know for sure that we can't go back than living in a state of – I don't know – limbo. Neither fully here, nor there . . . We can move on now and try to make the most of our lives here. Of course, it'll take some time – who am I fooling? But you know, at least . . ."

"Yeah, I know," said Jim, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

Hermione simply stared at him for a moment. Then, as though having realized that she was crying, she suddenly swivelled away, shielding her face with a hand and blinking furiously. Following the same instinct that had earlier made him tenderly tuck aside her curls, Jim reached out and pulled her towards him, enveloping her in a firm embrace. After a moment, she melted into the comfort.

Jim had no idea how long they stood there (he often lost track of time when he was around her), Hermione's silent tears soaking into his shirt as he held her tightly and placed tentative kisses on the top of her head.

"I'm – I'm sorry," she sniffled, trying to catch her breath, her voice muffled against his chest. "I thought I had this under control."

"Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us. It doesn't mean you're weak, it just means you're alive and . . . well, human."

"I'm a bit of a mess right now."

"Eh. I think I'm a bit of a mess too," he admitted, absently twisting a lock of her hair around his finger. "We can be a mess together."

She let out a watery laugh. "Sounds like a plan. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. That's what friends are for, right?"

She pressed her cheek against his chest and traced the Starfleet insignia on his shirt with her forefinger. Jim wondered if she could hear his heart stutter.

"For someone who went through what you went through recently, you look remarkably well – not like a mess at all," she pointed out, her arms going around his waist.

"Maybe that's because I'm very good at pretending and hiding things," he said evenly. "Years of practice, you know?"

If she noticed any hidden implications in his words, she didn't indicate it, and they continued standing there in silence. Even though he wanted to do more than just hold her, he knew that any type of advances now would likely be rejected, not to mention feel too much like taking advantage of her emotional state.

It was true that Jim had the reputation of being a 'womanizer', but he didn't exactly appreciate the term, or how it implied that he was someone who took shameless advantage of women. He quite enjoyed the company of women, and all that came with it, but he did _not_ take advantage of that company. Or at least, only ever so much as they took advantage of him. Honestly, most of the rumours of his 'conquests' had been made up – mostly by women who wanted to brag about spending the night with the son of legendary George Kirk. His reputation had grown ridiculously out of proportion.

Besides, Hermione was . . . different.

"It'll be okay, sweetheart," he finally said, continuing to play with a curl. "I know it might not seem like much right now, but you have a life here. It might be smaller and newer, but you have people who love you and care about you."

Then he quickly added, "I mean, you should have seen Uhura. She was crying like a baby when she thought you guys were gone for good."

"I'm sure that's not true," Hermione murmured, a hint of a smile in her tone. "Nyota doesn't cry like a baby."

"Okay, fine. I made that up," he admitted. "But at least it made you smile."

She let out a small chuckle.

"Just don't tell Uhura, or she might kill me."

"Nyota wouldn't do that," Hermione countered. "Besides, I think she's grown to like you."

She was right, actually. He wouldn't go as far as calling Uhura and himself friends just yet, but they'd certainly come quite far in their relationship. So much had changed in the past few months that it was almost unbelievable sometimes.

Jim made a noise of acknowledgement.

"James?"

The use of his full name sent chills down his spine, her pronunciation soft and nearly breathy.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For _everything_. You. Thank you for being _you_ – a wonderful person, a ray of sunshine."

Suddenly, a series of memories flashed in the back of his mind: his mother sitting at the kitchen table on his birthday, trying and failing to hold back her tears, and doing her damnedest not to meet his eyes – his father's eyes; his brother bailing on him, despite Jim begging him not to leave; Frank flinging insults when his mother was off-planet.

 _Stupid. Disappointment. No one. Waste of space._

Jim had discovered fairly early that words could be just as hurtful and damaging as physical blows – if not worse. Loneliness and sense of drifting purposelessness had accompanied most of his childhood and adolescence.

Jim had no actual memories of his father, of course, and Sam had only a few. Under different circumstances, their shared loss and mutual suffering would have made them allies, would have driven them together in the kind of protective siblinghood Jim had longingly observed in some other families. And although there had been moments of closeness between him and his brother (like when Sam had pulled him out of the creek and saved his life, when he had gone on and on about some science project he was working on and offered Jim the chance to assist him), for the most part, Sam had prefered to stew in his frustrations and nurse his grievances with their mother and Frank in private, shutting everyone out.

When Jim drove his father's antique Corvette into the quarry, it had been as symbolic a gesture that a desperate twelve-year-old could make. A year later, he'd been sent to the juvenile detention centre in Davenport, nearly bubbling over with a strange mix of anger, shame, and defiance.

He'd realized, then, that something happened to you when your mother didn't hold you close, or tell you all the time that you were the best thing ever, and did her best to avoid looking into your eyes for too long because they were a constant reminder of her dead husband: a little part of you sealed over. It made you learn to not need her. To not need anyone.

He'd so desperately wanted to believe that he could make it on his own.

Without even knowing he was doing it, he waited. He waited for anyone who got close to him to see something they didn't like in him, something they hadn't seen initially, and to grow cold and disappear, too, like so much sea mist. Because there had to be something wrong, didn't there, if even his own family didn't really want him?

It was why Jim hadn't had a lasting relationship with anyone. It was why he'd never had real friends. He'd put on a mask and erected walls – not only to protect himself, to stop people from hurting him, but also to see who cared enough to tear them down. And no one had. Not before Pike and Bones, and then Gary and Lee.

Taking up Pike's challenge and showing up for the recruitment shuttle – even if the decision had been made with the same sense of reckless desperation that had pressed his foot to the gas pedal of his father's Corvette – was the best thing Jim had ever done. Having spent years being angry and hurt, lashing out and making dumb decisions – getting himself into all sorts of trouble because no one seemed to care one way or another . . . Well, he had been more than ready for a change. _Any_ change.

So, he had gladly accepted the dare – and suddenly, he'd had a purpose. Starfleet became his home, and the inner demons that whispered nasty things to him had finally been silenced.

Then there was Hermione, a woman who had literally come from another universe, and had somehow set up shop in the middle of his life and worked her way into his heart; she didn't just silence his inner demons, she completely overpowered them with an opposing force – standing in his arms and calling him sunshine.

"You're welcome," he managed, not quite sure what else to say. "Feeling better?"

"Loads. Thank you."

And then she did something she'd never done before – she stood on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Her lips were warm and soft, her fingertips lightly pressed against his jaw, sending sparks down his spine and leaving him slightly lightheaded.

She pulled away and leaned against the countertop once more.

A sudden chill caused by loss of contact went through him, and he had to fight the impulse to gather her in his arms once more and hold her close. "Good. I'm help to glad . . . Uh, glad to help . . . You know what I mean."

Hermione laughed. He stood by her side, one arm touching hers and enjoying her warmth.

" _No winter lasts forever_ ," he started after a few moments of silence and waited.

" _No spring skips its turn_ ," Hermione finished swiftly with a smile. "Hal Borland."

It was a bit of a game they'd started playing after Jim had recited Tolstoy to her in the Medbay on the _Enterprise_ – one of them would recite a famous quote, and the other had to name the author. Their friends would give them weird looks because it often seemed like they were spouting nonsense out of the blue, but most of the time the quotes were deliberately chosen for a specific situation – like now.

"And that brings the score up to 111 against 107." Jim grinned. "I'm still winning."

She bumped him with her shoulder. "Only because you were cheating."

"I wasn't!"

"Yes, you were. You quoted someone who lived in the 22nd century, and we agreed that until I have some more knowledge of everything ahead of my time, we'd stick with the beginning of the 21st century and earlier."

"That was an honest mistake, and I didn't get any points for that!"

"Plus, I think you quoted a few people who I'm pretty sure didn't even exist in our universe."

"You're just a sore loser."

"And you're a show off."

They looked at each other and laughed at their own silliness.

"We're such dorks," Jim said. He'd really missed their friendly banter.

"Yes, we are."

And they laughed some more just because they could.

"Hey, Bones told me about this nice little cafe somewhere by the waterfront," Jim started cheerily after a minute of comfortable silence. "Apparently they make excellent cherry pie."

"Mmm, I love cherry pie."

Jim bumped her shoulder with his, a crooked grin gracing his lips. "I know you do. That's why I think we should go and check that place out. What do you say? They might even have treacle tart – Harry's favourite."

"Sounds like an excellent idea."

"Oh, and there's this little antique shop I've stumbled upon a few days ago. You'll love it. I found a collection of old-fashioned greeting cards there – you know, the ones people used to send each other for birthdays, Christmas, or whatever – with envelopes even. Of course it probably isn't anything unusual for you, but for me it's . . . I don't know how to explain it properly. I've always liked antiques. Liked holding them, you know? That tangible connection to the past. It makes me feel grounded, or something. Less ephemeral . . ."

He turned his head towards her and flashed a grin. "That's a word, right? Ephemeral?"

Hermione grinned back. "It certainly is. And you know it."

"Yep," he confirmed. "I just wanted to see your smile again."

Her smile grew wider as she looked at him. "Thank you."

She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

Her gaze lingered on his hand, a slight frown marring her face. "I must be blind not to have noticed this sooner," she chastised herself, lightly running her thumb over his scraped knuckles. "What happened here?"

He suppressed a shiver. "Oh, that. I beat the crap outta the punching bag at the gym."

"What did it ever do to you?"

"Not a thing. I guess it's just my way of coping with . . . things."

She looked up at him, silently asking for permission, and Jim nodded in response. A few quick waves of her wand, and his knuckles bore no more traces of injury.

"You know, gloves exist to prevent this sort of thing," she said, taking his other hand and repeating the healing spells.

Jim merely offered her a sheepish smile and a shrug.

"Should you even be exercising just yet?" she asked with concern.

"Bones gave me a clean bill of health a few days ago. Although, he did tell me to take it easy for a little while."

"And you, of course, didn't listen."

Jim smiled. "You know me."

She waved her wand at him a few more times, and finally nodded to herself in satisfaction. Then she grasped his hand once more, squeezing it gently. "Please, take a better care of yourself – if not for you, then at least for those who care about you?"

Her eyes were full of concern and regard for him. ' _I don't want anything to happen to you,'_ they seemed to say.

He swallowed. "I'll do my best."

"That's all I'm asking."

She brushed her thumb over his knuckles once more, a small smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. "This brings back memories. Sort of."

Jim gave her a confused look, unsure what exactly she was referring to – until she lifted his hand to her mouth and placed a gentle kiss over his knuckles. He remembered doing the same thing for her after she'd punched Shev in that bar.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Oh." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"You are supposed to say, ' _I'm not a child who needs his boo-boos kissed away'_ , " she teased, her eyes crinkling with mirth.

He quickly recovered and grinned at her wickedly. "But I don't mind you kissing my boo-boos away. In fact, I think I have one right here," he added on an insane impulse, lightly tapping a finger to his lips.

 _Shit._

She dropped his hand and crossed her arms, her face flushing slightly. "You're awful," she said without any conviction.

"Nah. You don't really think that. You love me." He flashed her a lopsided grin and added a wink for good measure, attempting to disguise the flicker of his expression.

 _What the hell are you_ doing _?! You can't do this right now! What happened to not taking advantage of her emotional state?_ he inwardly screamed at himself, his heart hammering in his throat as he waited for her to protest, to say _something_.

He could hardly breathe, suddenly feeling like he was in freefall, with nothing to anchor him – like he was back above Vulcan again, falling from Nero's drill.

Her features unreadable, Hermione raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything for a long moment.

Then she smiled wryly. "Most days."

Jim exhaled a nervous chuckle, solid ground suddenly reappearing beneath his feet.

She picked up the teapot. "Tea's getting cold," she said before heading out of the kitchen.

Jim followed her silently, shaking his head as he realized just how deep in it he'd fallen.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

My gratitude goes to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all her help and feedback. She's a gem, and I can't thank her enough :) Feel free to find her under my "Favourite Authors" and check out her stories.

* * *

Chapter 25

 ** _July 10, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

"We were able to track down the radiation trail to Sector 229, subsector 1429-1811," Alex Marcus said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on the desk. "A Klingon scout ship was found adrift. An away team was dispatched to investigate, but shortly after they beamed over the self-destruct was activated. And then they were attacked by three Klingons."

"Did the team make it out?" Chris Pike inquired, concerned.

"Barely. Check this out," said Marcus, picking up one of the PADDs neatly stacked on his desk and passing it over to Chris.

Chris took a moment to read and reread what he saw there, brow furrowing in confusion. "What's all this gibberish? ' _Lark's true pepper. Round the turbulent dirt. All job appalled comets. Glass belt judge a bin to let it_ '. . ."

"That's what the Klingons were shouting, while they were attacking our officers."

"Was the universal translator used for this?"

Marcus scoffed. "I can show you what the universal translator spewed out – it's even worse."

Chris wasn't sure how much worse than this it could get, but he took Marcus' word for it.

"Our best xenolinguists, Lieutenant Uhura among them, worked on this for days," said Marcus, "and that's the best they could come up with. There's a few more pages of it, with different variations, just because one word in one language can mean ten different things in another – but it doesn't get any better."

Chris offered a nod, placing the PADD back on the desk, and Marcus continued, "The away team all reported that the Klingons seemed completely batshit crazy."

"Drugged? Space madness? A virus?"

"A virus can probably be ruled out. The away team was quarantined upon return and checked out fine. They're still under close observation, just in case, but so far so good. As for the other two possibilities – I guess we'll never know. There's something else."

Marcus handed him another PADD with a short video fragment that the away team had been able to record. It showed the dimly lit interior of the Klingon scout vessel, as well as a lifeless body of what looked like . . .

"Is that –?"

"A Romulan, yes," Marcus confirmed.

"This is bizarre. How did a Romulan end up there?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"And the ship's debris?"

"Analyzed thoroughly. They found five distinct DNA sequences in the debris field – three Klingon, one Romulan, and one . . . human."

Chris looked up sharply.

"We're still running it through our databases, but at this point I doubt we'd be able to find a match."

Chris rubbed his forehead. He asked, though he already had an inkling of what the answer would be, "Any impulse or warp echoes nearby?"

"Nothing," Marcus confirmed. "If there was a trail, it went cold long ago."

Chris went silent as he contemplated the situation, standing to pace as though moving his legs would make his brain follow suit. There was a lot about the whole thing that made no sense.

"I know what you must be thinking," said Marcus. "Things aren't adding up."

"Too right they aren't," Chris replied. "Why would the Klingons violate the Neutral Zone and risk starting a war in the process and then just go and . . . do what? Beam some bomb into a random building that _happened_ to be hosting presentations for potential new recruits? If they really wanted to do damage, they would have just fired their disruptors and torpedoes from orbit. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining – but their actions on Dolvia VII were uncharacteristically . . . restrained for Klingons. Have you ever heard of them using tactics like that? I sure haven't.

"And then, if that wasn't enough, they just turned tail and _ran_ – only to be found in Sector 229? Where is the _honour_ in any of this?"

"Well, the Klingons' sense of honour isn't exactly the same as ours, is it?" reasoned Marcus. "It was likely meant to be an entirely covert mission – quick in and out. Taking damage from the _Constellation_ wouldn't have been in the plan. It was a lucky shot on our part."

It had been an excellent job on the part of the _Constellation_ 's crew. Their sensors had detected intermittent gravimetric distortions off their starboard bow, and the captain, unsure of their nature, had ordered to raise their shields and go to Yellow Alert. When the Klingons had decloaked and fired upon them, the _Constellation_ had been ready to fire back.

"And then there's the Romulan – on a Klingon ship," continued Chris. "According to the Intelligence reports, they hate each others' guts!"

"A _dead_ Romulan, Chris. He was already dead – who knows for how long? There were only three life signs – all Klingon – aboard the vessel when it was found."

Chris continued pacing, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Why Dolvia VII? It's largely an agricultural colony, and any military presence is primarily defensive. There is, of course, a pretty large scientific community, but their main focus is botany and zoology.

"And let us not forget about the bomb itself, admiral. I've reviewed the reports. That strange component they used? It's a Thermal Isolitic Plasma Charge – a component commonly used in Nausicaan weaponry. Do you really think that the people as proud as Klingons would use a _Nausicaan_ component in their bomb?"

There was, of course, a great deal they still didn't know about the Klingons, but it was known that they were a proud and violent warrior race, who valued honour more than they did their lives. The actions that these Klingons had supposedly taken did not conform to what they knew about them.

It would be wrong – not to mention foolish – to stereotype, but based on the Intelligence reports and his own experiences with the species, Chris knew that the Klingons typically didn't run. They fought, even if it meant certain death. To do otherwise would be dishonourable. Going out in a blaze of glory seemed to be what every Klingon dreamed of. What was that phrase that they shouted before charging into battle, or throwing themselves into some suicidal act?

 _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam_. _Today is a good day to die._

Marcus crossed his arms. "You forget, Chris – these Klingons weren't in their right mind."

Chris sighed. "I don't know, admiral. I get the feeling that we're missing something here – something very important. I'm sure of it."

Marcus stared at Pike for a few moments before leaning forward in his seat. "That's why I invited you here, Chris. You've had more encounters with the Klingons over the course of your career than any other living Starfleet Captain."

Four. Starting with his very first starship assignment onboard the _Apollo_ as a green cadet, Chris had encountered the Klingons four times – four times too many as far as he was concerned – and he'd survived each one of them thanks to his ability to think fast on his feet, a working knowledge of many seemingly unrelated things, good judgement, and fair bit of luck. He'd witnessed countless crewmates blasted out into the vacuum of space, entire sections of the ship destroyed along with their crew.

Marcus handed him a PADD. Chris gave him a questioning look, accepting the device and taking a seat once more.

"Your promotion papers," Marcus explained. "And before you outright refuse again, please, hear me out. With Matt Decker gone . . ."

It was all over the news, right up there with heroic actions of James T. Kirk: the story of Commodore Matthew Decker and Lieutenant Tsugumi Ogawa, killed saving the lives of five people when the explosion brought down an entire wall and ceiling in the meeting room they were in.

Marcus sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand down his face. After a few moments, he met Chris' eyes, looking as though he'd suddenly aged a decade.

 _When was the last time Marcus – no, Alex, had gotten a good night sleep?_ Chris thought, almost tired himself. _When have any of us, for that matter?_

Before Chris could voice his question, Alex continued, "Did you know that Matt was taking a short break to visit his son, who works in one of the research facilities of the colony? The building is located hundreds of miles away from the site of the attack. How he ended up there is beyond me."

 _The wrong place at the wrong time._

Alex gave his head a shake, seemingly to focus on the here and now. "Nogura recommended you specifically, Chris. He thinks you should take Matt's place in Starfleet Security, and I agree. I can't think of anyone who'd be better suited."

Chris disagreed. He could think of at least a few others who could step up to the role. Chris and Matt had been contemporaries, but they'd always differed greatly in their priorities as Starfleet officers. Decker, like Marcus, was more focused on defence and protection, while Chris saw himself primarily as an explorer.

Alex picked up a stylus and began to twirl it in his hands – a nervous habit that Chris was well familiar with.

"You know what this means, right? You'd be given field command of every ship in the sector that borders the Klingons when the war begins –"

"Wait," Chris interrupted, placing the PADD on the desk with more force than he intended to. "Wait a minute, sir. _When_ the war begins? Don't you mean to say _if_?"

He noticed Alex's shoulders tense.

"It's inevitable, if you ask me," Alex said darkly, his gaze fixed on the stylus. "Every year, there are more and more run-ins with them; more and more of our people get killed."

Unable to sit still, Chris jumped to his feet and started pacing again, as a heavy, uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut. "A war is a very, very messy business. _Death, destruction, disease, horror. That's what war is all about. That's what makes it a thing to be avoided!*_ It's not an _inevitability_ that we should resign ourselves to."

Alex stood and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. "Don't you think I know that?" he snapped. "And so do the Federation Council and the President. They don't consider this situation lightly.

"Even though sometimes I feel like it'd be simpler to take the fleet straight to Qo'nos," he added, muttering.

Chris stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Alex's back. "You don't really mean that."

Alex slowly turned towards him, his expression twisting into a wry smile, the one that accompanied his usual dark jokes. But somehow Chris couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't exactly supposed to hear that, that it was something Alex hadn't meant to say out loud.

Alex sighed heavily and turned to stare out the window again, his arm coming up to brace himself against the glass. His knuckles slowly turned white as they clenched into a fist around his stylus.

"How many people do we have to lose to them, Chris?" he said finally. "How many of my friends have to die before . . ."

The stylus in his hand snapped in half, and a deafening silence settled in the room.

As far as Chris knew, Alex had encountered the Klingons face-to-face only once. It had been during the early years of his career in Starfleet, when he'd been the Chief Science Officer on the _Olympus_. The vessel was attacked during one of their 'milk runs' to Altair IV, at the edge of the Federation space. Nearly half of the crew had been lost that day, including the captain and the first officer, who'd died when the Bridge was destroyed. The rest (among them June Wallace – the woman who had later become Alex's wife) had only made it out alive thanks to the actions of Marcus, who'd been in Engineering at the time of the destruction of the Bridge. As the second officer, he'd assumed command and ordered for the ship to set course for the nearby gas giant, engaging the tractor beam in the process to drag the Klingons with them. The Klingons had overloaded their engines trying to pull away and were subsequently crushed by the gas giant.

A career with Starfleet wasn't without its rewards, but deliberately venturing into the unknown was akin to tempting fate. It was a harrowing life. You had no choice but to lean on people. Many crew members became friends, family.

And then many of them died.

Chris knew that every friend, every member of the big family that was Starfleet lost to the Klingons, only furthered Alex's growing personal animosity towards the species.

It could have been just the stress of everything that had happened in the recent months – Nero, Dolvia VII, the million and one things that someone of Alex's position was required to do in the aftermath, June's health and surgery – but Chris felt like his old friend wasn't quite himself as of late. Alex seemed to have lost some weight, his hair had a lot more gray in it, there were near-constant shadows beneath his eyes. While the Dolvia VII investigation continued and the politicians worked on resolving the situation with the Klingons through diplomatic channels, Alex seemed to grow more tired and grumpy.

Currently, the Klingons denied the Empire's involvement in the Dolvia VII incident, declaring that the scout ship in question had long been lost somewhere along the Romulan/Klingon border. As for the three Klingons that had been found aboard, they had apparently been discommendated, and words like _biHnuch**_ and _petaQ**_ were used to describe them.

Alex took a deep breath and slowly let it out before turning around to face Chris once more, a hopeful look on his face. "I'm aware that this isn't what you want, and you've declined your promotion once already. But we need you here, Chris. _I_ need you."

Other reservations aside – was Chris even ready for the job? Admirals typically didn't fly, and there still was so much left to explore, so many first contacts to make. Commanding the flagship was his dream. It was why he'd refused a promotion and hadn't accepted any other assignments, however temporary, after the _Yorktown_ and had chosen instead to teach at the Academy while the _Enterprise_ had still been under construction.

Something his former Number One had once told him jumped to the forefront of his mind.

 _"I'm ready to move on,"_ she'd said after the _Yorktown_ had been decommissioned. _"To start a family. To come home to have dinner with my husband. To think about something other than ships and duty rosters . . . Space is for the young, sir. And I'm not getting any younger."_

Chris wasn't getting any younger either, but he also wasn't sure he was ready to move on just yet. He felt like he could go on for several more years, hopefully make a difference out there.

But he was needed here, on Earth. If Alex and the Admiralty believed that he was the best person for the position offered, who was he to argue with them all?

What was that Vulcan axiom? _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few._ It would appear he had to put aside his personal desires and take the job – for the greater good.

Chris was no fool and knew that promotions in Starfleet could be very political. But this was Alex asking him – _asking_ him, not _ordering_ him. Surely, his longtime friend and mentor would not have any ulterior motives?

Chris nodded slowly, his mind made up. "Who are you giving the _Enterprise_ to then?" he asked.

Alex broke into a genuine smile. "Well, I was hoping you'd help me choose your successor. Have someone in mind?"

* * *

 ** _July 23, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

Harry, having just finished teaching his first class on hand-to-hand combat, walked towards the Sciences Building to pick up Hermione; they'd scheduled in some dueling and wandless magic practice. A brief rainstorm had left the pavement shiny and wet, and the sun was blinking through the clouds. He tipped his face towards the light, breathing in the fresh air, as he thought back to the last couple of weeks.

After the initial slew of emotions and a few choice words from Scotty and Leonard, followed by the bone-crushing hugs that had accompanied the revelation of Harry and Hermione's return, Pike and a couple of Starfleet admirals had called for a meeting with the two magic-users. The higher-ups had wanted to discuss where the two friends had been during their month-long disappearance – just as Nyota had predicted. Marcus in particular had been extremely interested in the wards set up around their flat and the lab. Harry and Hermione had told them only the bare minimum – _searched for a way to get back home, created a magical portal, ended up on another planet with some powerful beings who know everything that happens everywhere, were told they couldn't go back._

Then came the question: _'Now what?'_

Since they'd met Amerisis and got some answers, they didn't exactly _need_ to go searching for her planet anymore, and Harry questioned their reason for staying with Starfleet. He knew that Hermione wanted to stay, if her numerous rambles about going into space, seeing the stars and nebulae up close and discovering many previously undiscovered things were any indication.

But Harry also knew that she'd leave Starfleet if that was what he wanted.

He remembered one of their conversations after they got back from Omri.

 _[Hermione took a deep breath, looking up from her book, and slowly let it out. "I wanted to apologize."_

 _Harry threw her a confused look, setting his own book down._

 _"I realize now that when we made a decision to accept the invitation to study at the Academy, it was more my decision than yours, and I apologize if I was pushy about it_ – _"_

 _"No, don't," Harry interjected, raising a hand for emphasis. "You weren't pushy, and it made sense. You gave me a good reason why we should do it. Plus it helped us both stay busy and sane."_

 _She gave him a grateful smile and reached across the table to grasp his hand, squeezing it briefly. "After everything that you've been through, the last thing I want is to push you into doing something you don't want. You deserve to make your own choices and finally have_ some _control over your life."_

 _"Control over my life?" Harry echoed. "Would I even know what to do with that?"_

 _Although he said and meant it sarcastically, there was truth to his words._

 _Hermione crossed her arms, her face flushing slightly with anger. "That's the thing, Harry! You'd been through hell and back. You'd taken on and sacrificed more than anyone had the right to ask or expect. And yet, most people back home still thought that they could make choices for you when they had no right to!"_

 _She took a cooling breath to calm herself. "You deserve to finally be happy. And if that means leaving Starfleet, then we can do that."_

 _"But that's not what you want," countered Harry. "You want to go into space, you said so yourself_ – _even despite the danger."_

 _"No one's safety is ever guaranteed, Harry, no matter where they are. And yes, I do want to go into space. One day. But in any case, it's going to take time before that happens, and a lot can change before then. Besides, Starfleet isn't the only ticket into space."_

 _Harry studied her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I take it you've already done your research?"_

 _"Why, naturally," she replied with fake-haughtiness. "Would you expect anything less of me?"_

 _This was so typical of Hermione, so familiar and so much like home_ – _almost like a lighthouse to a lost sailor in a stormy sea. Combined with the expression on her face, it made Harry laugh some more. She may no longer be the 'nightmare' that she had been in her early teens, with her nose in the air and overly bossy attitude, but her studiousness would likely never go away. Truthfully, Harry didn't want it to go away. After all, it had saved their lives more than once._

 _Hermione chuckled, influenced by his merriment, before turning serious again. "The point is, Harry, I just . . . want you to be happy. I've always wanted that for you, you know. Which is why I don't want you to choose something just because of me. I want you to really make sure that this is what you want as well."]_

What did Harry want? Well, what he wanted was impossible to get, so he had to choose from what was available. And at the moment, Starfleet – despite the dangers and a couple of creepy admirals – seemed like a good option. If he was being completely honest with himself, a part of him was just as curious as Hermione about what those stars and nebulae looked like up close. In their home universe, that had not yet been a possibility. Plus, there was a good chance they'd find someone magical out there. They may not be like himself and Hermione (after all, Amerisis did say that there was no one _exactly_ like them in this universe, whatever that meant), but they still might have some abilities; not to mention, some far-off planet might hold plants and animals that could serve as viable potion ingredients.

As it was, he and Hermione had (temporarily for now) taken up part-time jobs with Starfleet upon their return – Harry as an assistant instructor in hand-to-hand combat at the Academy, and Hermione at the hospital.

When they'd first found themselves in this new universe, they'd been provided with bare necessities, as well as given a certain amount of credits for their help with defeating Nero. Added to that was the commission they received for the potions they brewed for the _Kobayashi Maru_ test. But more income never hurt anyone. More than that, their jobs kept them busy, especially since they'd pretty much completed the basic training before their 'disappearance' and didn't need to play catch-up anymore. They were now ready to officially begin their first year at the Academy . . .

Harry was so immersed in his thoughts, that he completely missed the petite blonde coming around the corner with a precariously-packed box in her arms.

They promptly crashed into each other.

PADDs went flying from the top of the box. Following his instincts, Harry quickly and discreetly cast a wandless, nonverbal cushioning charm to soften the impact.

"I'm sorry!" he apologized, crouching to pick up the fallen objects.

"Oh no, I should be the one apologizing," she said, setting the box down. "I was too busy thinking about my science project instead of paying attention to my surroundings – just like in that ancient story about the Dreaming Astronomer."

"Apparently, you aren't the only one," Harry replied was an easy smile, retrieving one of the PADDs from a puddle. "These things are waterproof, right?" he added sheepishly.

The blonde chuckled, retrieving another PADD from a puddle. "Certainly. I've lost count of how many times I've spilled my coffee on them." She paused, frowning, as she inspected every PADD. "They aren't unbreakable though. I would think that they would be at least a little bit damaged from that kind of fall."

Harry silently cursed his rash decision and watched the woman carefully, ready to take action in case of trouble.

But she merely shrugged her shoulders and said, smiling, "Oh, well. Better be thankful for small miracles, right?"

They both stood, and Harry handed her the PADDs. She gratefully accepted them.

He bent down to pick up the box. "Let me give you a hand with this. I'm headed for the Sciences Building, and you looked like you were headed there as well, right?"

She nodded. "As long as it's no trouble."

"No trouble at all."

They started down the pathway again in silence.

"So . . . er . . . your accent," began Harry, when the silence between them grew uncomfortable. "You're British?"

The blonde shook her head. "I was born in New York, but my father was stationed in London shortly after I was born – my parents raised me there . . . Well, my mother mostly . . . And you?"

"I was born in . . . London," he replied, looking straight ahead and trying to keep his expression neutral.

He hated lying, but he couldn't possibly tell a complete stranger that he was born in Godric's Hollow – a village that didn't even exist in this world. Besides, he and Hermione had been given fake backgrounds when they first got here. As far as everyone was concerned, Harry was born on the 31st of July, 2236 in London to a family of engineers who had been killed in an accident when Harry was little.

Hoping to avoid the conversation about his fake background and more lies, Harry asked the first thing that came to his mind, "So, am I right to assume that your father is with Starfleet then?"

"Yes, you are," she replied simply.

Everything in her composure indicated that the subject of her father wasn't the one she wanted to discuss.

 _Perhaps the relationship between them is strained?_

Or _she simply doesn't want people to make assumptions about her upon finding out who her father is. She just wants to be recognized as her own person, instead of as a daughter of her father._

If it was the latter, Harry could respect that. After all, he knew firsthand what it was like to be judged by the actions of the father he didn't even remember – Professor Snape's treatment of him being the worst of it. Even Sirius couldn't help but compare him to his dad. It had always been hard to avoid the association, and the expectations that came with it. People always seemed to think that simply because one came from the same gene pool as someone else, they had to be a carbon copy of them – both in personality and achievements.

"Are you new here?" she asked, changing the subject. "I don't think I've ever seen you before. Although, that's not really an indicator of anything. Apart from attending classes, I'm mostly holed up in the lab. So, unless we take the same classes – which, I'm pretty sure we don't . . . What's your speciality?"

"Well, I _am_ actually new here, recently finished basic training. So I haven't chosen yet. What's yours?"

"Sciences, focusing on weapons systems. I just finished my first year."

Harry glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was quite beautiful, with a pair of crystal blue eyes framed by long lashes. Her long, blond hair was gathered into a ponytail that spilled over one of her shoulders. He had an easier time imagining her handling beakers and Florence flasks than in a _weapons_ lab.

 _Don't stereotype_ , he told himself, feeling a bit foolish. Appearances were deceptive, indeed.

"So, why weapons systems?" he voiced curiously.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Partly because of my father and partly . . . curiosity, I suppose. It seems like such a boys' club here at the Academy. I want to _crash_ it," she finished resolutely, her chin lifted slightly in pride, a mischievous spark in her eyes.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Well, with determination like yours, I'm sure you can."

She smiled widely. "Thanks. Do you have any preferences regarding your speciality?"

"Well, I was thinking of security. Although I found engineering to be rather interesting as well . . . I have a friend who's an engineer, and he's been teaching me things . . ."

Whenever they could, Harry and Scotty spent hours working on different devices, taking them apart and putting them back together – with and without magic – and implementing modifications to make them run more efficiently. Recently, they'd been working on a new type of subspace transmitter. A couple of years ago, Harry had disassembled a wizarding wireless device just to see how it worked. With Scotty's help, he wanted to see if it was possible to combine the Muggle technology with magical one in order to create something better. So far, all of their efforts failed, but neither Harry nor Scotty were the type to give up very easily.

The blonde gave him a look that Harry couldn't quite place.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's just that . . . Never mind, it's stupid. Some superstition."

She gave her head a slight shake, hugging the PADDs closer to her chest. She seemed to be slightly embarrassed.

"Superstition?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

She sighed. "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but it's sort of considered a bad luck to be a redshirt . . ." She let out a small chuckle. "Told you it's stupid."

Harry nodded. "I've heard some stories and jokes about what it means to wear red. But the thing is, every division has its own important role on a starship. Just because Operations happen to wear red . . . It doesn't mean anything. If they were to wear green instead of red, then don't you think green would be considered an unlucky colour?"

"I suppose," she agreed.

"Besides, I'm not superstitious – and red's always been my colour," added Harry with a smile.

She returned the smile. "Well, you could always choose both – your speciality, I mean. Security _and_ engineering. I mean, we all have to get _some_ training in the field of engineering at the Academy anyway, so why not go a little farther and make it your sub-speciality?"

An academic year at Starfleet Academy was much tougher than in any other institution. Along with all the usual subjects of literature, history, physical sciences, there was a whole slew of other disciplines: xenobiology, xenoanthropology, galactic law and institutions, planetary ecologies, interplanetary economics. This went hand in hand with semantics, language structure, comparative galactic ethics, epistemology, xenopsychology, and so on. And on top of all that, Starfleet Academy had mandatory engineering courses. Its graduates, no matter what they decided to concentrate on, needed to understand technology; it was only practical, because the situations Starfleet officers faced might require a physician to pilot a shuttlecraft or a historian to operate a transporter. The standards were rigorous because lives were at stake. About a quarter of the first year cadets never made it to their second.

"I just might," Harry agreed. "Do you have a sub-speciality?"

The blonde nodded. "I do. Xenobiology. Genesis and evolution of alien species."

"That's . . . an interesting choice. Weapons systems and then genesis . . ."

She laughed. "Oh, I know what you must be thinking – one is destruction, and the other's creation. I've heard all the jokes. But I have this theory that destructive power of some weapons might create the conditions necessary for restarting life on dormant planets. Of course, my views are unorthodox and require a lot of research and experimentation, but I'll prove them one day . . ."

She rambled on in that vein – alien organisms and terraforming – before halting mid-sentence. "Sorry, I'm talking your ear off, aren't I?"

"Not at all," said Harry. "Over the years, I've gotten used to it and have grown to like it, actually. My best friend occasionally gets carried away, you see. Besides, I think it's cool when people are passionate about their field of study and what they do."

She gave him another small smile, and a bubble of quiet settled around them as they ascended the stairs to the Sciences Building.

"Er . . . you said you just finished your first year," said Harry as they walked towards the lift. "Shouldn't you be at the Training Station in space, piloting shuttles and stuff?"

"Yes, I'll be there in a few days. I had some . . . extenuating circumstances. My mother had a surgery, you see, so I asked for some time off to be with her."

"Is she alright?"

The blonde smiled. "She is, thank you. The surgery was a success, and she was back on her feet in no time."

She entered the key code and they walked into the lab. "Besides, I already know how to pilot a shuttle, so I'll only have to pass my tests."

Lights automatically flickered on, and she gestured for him to put the box down on one of the tables.

"Thank you so much for your help," she said sincerely.

"You're welcome."

"Oh, I just realized we've had an entire conversation, and we don't even know each other's names," she said with a laugh, placing the PADDs on a desk.

"I'm Carol." She thrust a hand forward. "Carol Wallace."

* * *

A/N. Please, hold your hippogriffs! Just 'cause a character suddenly shows up, doesn't mean she'll be automatically paired with Harry. Thank you.

*" _Death, destruction, disease, horror. That's what war is all about. That's what makes it a thing to be avoided."_ – this is a quote from TOS S01E24 "A Taste of Armageddon."

** _biHnuch_ – Klingon for "coward"

 _**petaQ_ – a Klingon insult. Most people are familiar with this one because it's repeated quite frequently throughout the series. Fun fact: the word sounds very similar to a derogatory term in Bashkir language. Coincidence?


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

My gratitude goes to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all her help. She's a gem, and I can't thank her enough :) Feel free to find her under my "Favourite Authors" and check out her stories.

* * *

Chapter 26

 ** _July 29, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

"Hermione, may I have a moment of your time?" said Spock.

They'd just finished up for the day, and Hermione hoisted her bag over her shoulder as she prepared to leave. She'd been helping him by packing up his office so it'd be clear for his replacement – a task made easier and faster by the use of magic – while Spock spent the afternoon grading student assignments.

As far as Hermione knew, Spock was the only officer who wasn't working full-time on the _Enterprise_ 's pre-launch countdown. He was one of the best instructors the Academy had, and the higher-ups had decided that his time was better spent teaching until the last minute possible, rather than simply going through lists, dotting the i's and crossing the t's; it was much easier to get someone as a substitute for the paper-pushing.

Hermione was well-familiar with the day-to-day tasks – simple, but time-consuming – that would usually be a part of responsibilities of his teaching assistant, had he still had one. He'd lost her on the same day he lost his planet, and he hadn't bothered to search for replacement. As a thank you for his time spent tutoring her, she had volunteered to take over some of those small tasks; in the weeks that followed the failed attempt to return home, she'd spent more time in his office, helping.

Not only was it a method of repaying him, it also gave her the opportunity to ask an occasional science-related question or consult him on a few formulas and calculations for her newest project – a shield greater than what anyone could currently manage . . . She hadn't yet mentioned the details of her work to anyone but Harry and James. Though Spock was curious, he didn't pry, instead focusing his efforts on checking that her math was correct and answering any other questions she had.

"I have prepared this for you," said Spock as he finished downloading something on a PADD and handed it to Hermione.

"What is it?" she asked, setting her bag back down and accepting the device.

"A program that would facilitate your search of the flora and fauna that you require in your . . . potion-making."

"Thank you, Spock. But you didn't have to go through the trouble of writing it. I know you're very busy."

"I was not the one who wrote it."

"Oh? Who did then?"

"William Blake, a cadet who is incredibly gifted in computer sciences. I decided to administer a practical test to the candidates wishing to take over the programming of the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation. The creation of a search program such as this fulfilled that purpose. I believe the phrase on Earth is 'killing two birds with one stone.' "

"Thank you," she said, offering him a grateful smile.

Spock nodded his head once, leaning back in his seat. "I have already tested the program on a few systems with the specifications that you once mentioned. I have included the results on the PADD, as well as the instructions on how to modify the search parameters to suit your needs."

She glanced down at the PADD, skimming through the names of the planets and of the specimens that the search had rendered, her brow furrowing as one name in particular caught her attention.

 _Alpha Dardania XII._ She'd heard it before. And it was in regards to something important.

Of course! That was the name of the only Class M planet in the Alpha Dardania system – the one located in the same subsector as the Phylos system, where the crew of the _Hercules_ had disappeared.

Spock noticed her preoccupation and looked at her inquiringly.

"Have you ever heard of the Phylos system?" Hermione blurted out.

It couldn't hurt to ask, could it? After all, Spock was a science officer. Not only that, he was one of the best. He might be most qualified to analyze these spatial anomalies.

"I have not," he replied, raising an eyebrow and turning to his computer terminal.

Spock was just as inquisitive and curious as her. He wasted no time searching for the system in the archives, entering the required instructor's codes.

Hermione, realizing that she'd be here a little while longer, picked up their empty tea mugs and excused herself to go to the break room and make them both some more. Sharing a cup of tea while they worked was a bit of a tradition they'd developed since he'd first begun tutoring her. He seemed particularly fond of the Kenyan tea that he mentioned Nyota had introduced him to.

The break room was empty, apart from Professor Gill's teaching assistant. The Bolian, Gaq'ta Krafit, exchanged an awkward greeting with Hermione and went back to reading something on his PADD. While she waited for the water to boil and the tea to steep, she received a message from James on her comm and exchanged a small conversation with him.

 _James: I'm almost done here! (he inserted an animated picture of a dancing stickman). I can't believe the amount of paperwork! You? Hope Spock isn't working you too hard. Tell him to lighten up. That's an order. I'll come and give it in person if I have to._

 _Hermione: Might I remind you that I'm doing this of my own free will? And don't abuse your power, captain :P_

 _James: Very mature, sweetheart._

 _Hermione: You bring out the child in me, darling._

 _James: Happy to oblige. Wanna meet afterwards? (he inserted a picture of himself wearing a goofy smile)._

 _Hermione: Hm, who's the loon in the photo?_

 _James: Oh, just some dude. You've seen him around. Don't you recognize him?_

 _Hermione: Not really._

 _James: I'll introduce you two then. I have a feeling you'll get along swimmingly. Tonight sounds good then? 1900?_

 _Hermione: Sorry, tonight won't work. Girls' night out with Nyota and Gaila._

 _James: Aw! I might cry!_

 _Hermione: I've got some tissues._

 _James: Bring them in person? I could use a hug too ;)_

 _Hermione: Sure, I can just pop by._

 _James: That phrase has a whole new meaning when you say it, sweetheart._

They went back and forth for a few more minutes before Hermione returned to the office. Spock already had something to share with her.

 _That was quick_ , she mused, impressed.

"This entire system," he said, accepting the mug that Hermione handed to him, "was quarantined due to a temporal maelstrom with continually shifting linear viscidity caused by dark matter ripples and relative gravitational degradation."

Hermione pulled up a chair next to him and took a few moments to consider his words. She must have been silent for longer than normal, because Spock opened his mouth – most likely to paraphrase his earlier words – but Hermione beat him to it.

"Time quicksand," she said.

Spock furrowed his brow and canted his head to the side – a mannerism that Hermione had come to associate with Spock being deep in thought.

"A curious, if accurate metaphor," he said, slightly nodding his head once in approval. "You appear to have a proclivity for them."

He canted his head to the other side, eyes crinkling slightly as he looked at her – another mannerism, which Hermione perceived as amusement.

Most Vulcans she'd met were inscrutable, but Spock was a lot easier to read by comparison – most of the time. She wasn't sure whether it was the result of being around him for a few months, or had to do with that brief, accidental mind-meld they'd shared.

 _It's probably the eyes_ , she surmised finally, sipping on her tea. His human eyes were far more expressive, and she wondered if Spock was even aware of how much he unwittingly gave away to a very careful observer. In fact, she'd made it a bit of a challenge for herself to learn to read him.

Hermione gave him a small smile and turned her attention to the screen, her brow furrowing as she analyzed the data.

"Do you think it's possible, hypothetically speaking, for someone to survive getting caught in these anomalies?"

Spock was silent as he made some calculations.

"I do not have sufficient data to answer that question with certainty," he said finally.

"Theorize?"

Spock flicked his eyes down and then up again, as if he was consulting some inward data bank – which, Hermione thought, he might have been.

"Based on the data available," he said finally, "I would theorize that your quicksand metaphor is more apt than previously expected: any struggle to escape would likely only make time pass faster within that region of space."

"Like a time dilation field?"

"Precisely."

"So, if someone got stuck there, say, even a year ago, and they did everything they could to leave –"

"It is likely that they would be already dead," Spock confirmed.

Hermione nodded, contemplating the information. If the crew of the _Hercules_ really had ended up in this time dilation field, then, after all this time, they would certainly be dead. But then, where had the transmission come from? An automated replay of the distress call? It was possible that the ship was still intact. Without the crew making further attempts to escape, and thus speeding up their local time, the ship's degradation would have returned to a slower pace.

But then, shouldn't they have been receiving this automated signal on a regular basis? It was known that Starfleet only had a snippet of a distress call received around the time of the _Hercules'_ disappearance. Apart from that, there was no record of any other communication from the vessel.

Too many questions, not nearly enough answers. It seemed to be a recurring theme as of late. There were too many _whys_ and _hows_ , and so many of them seemed to concern one subject in particular – _time_.

She'd heard the phrase _'Space_ – _the final frontier'_ so many times since she'd got here. But what if it wasn't the _only_ final frontier? What if _time_ was another? After all, mathematically and in accordance with relativity, the two were in some sense interchangeable. It was also known that they formed co-equal parts of a larger 'thing' called _space-time_ , and it was only within _space-time_ that the most complete understanding of the motion and properties of natural objects and phenomena could be properly understood by physicists. Space and time were to space-time what two long polynucleotide chains were to a DNA molecule.

And while there were spaceships capable of faster-than-light travel to facilitate the exploration of places never before explored, when it came to time, there were no time machines that she knew of; and they were all pretty much prisoners on a cosmic temporal freight train with no way of jumping tracks (Time-Turners, with their limitations, barely scratched the surface of true time travel). At least, that was the case as far as she knew. There were, of course, Amerisis and her people (and Merlin-only-knew what other species) who had the ability to do strange things with time and manipulate it to suit their needs, but for most . . .

She'd digressed again. Giving her head a slight shake to bring herself back to the present, she looked up at Spock. He was watching her curiously.

"Do you have any further questions?" he asked.

Brilliant rays of the setting sun came in through the window, casting more light on his features and making them easier to read. Now that she looked at him closer, she noticed that he looked different – the way she imagined he might look if he was recovering from an illness: his colour pasty, his eyes shadowed. Tiny beads of sweat across his brow.

"Yes. Are you feeling alright?"

The question seemed to catch him off-guard.

"I feel . . . fine," he replied, his voice strangely distant, his features carefully blank, dark eyes unfathomable.

" _Fine_ has variable definitions."

She knew him well enough to recognize the importance of the sudden widening of his eyes and the flush at the tips of his ears. He was surprised. He might not have expected his own words spoken to her months ago on the _Enterprise_ parroted back to him. His blank expression softened, his shoulders loosened, but he merely canted his head to the side and didn't say anything.

"I spoke to your mother yesterday," Hermione said. "She's worried about you."

Amanda messaged and called her and Harry quite often to inquire about their well-being and express motherly interest in their lives. Hermione had a feeling that had she and Harry been underage, Amanda might have wanted to adopt them.

She had also been the reason why Harry and Hermione had decided to spend some time on New Vulcan before making the final decision about their futures. They still had some time before the beginning of the new academic year.

 _"A change of scenery might do you good,"_ Amanda had told them. _"Besides, I won't lie, we could really use your help here. And, on a more selfish note, I'm dying to see you two again in person!"_

With the infrastructure of New Vulcan falling behind schedule – only the medical facilities and the main government buildings were complete; the power plant was functioning at half capacity, and most of the housing was still temporary – a number of second and third year cadets, as well as a few among the personnel, had requested permission to aide the Federation Emergency Relief Services. The group was scheduled to leave for New Vulcan in less than two weeks.

At first, Hermione hadn't been certain whether Harry would want to go there or not, but he had agreed rather enthusiastically.

 _"Who can understand what you and I are going through better than the Vulcans?"_ he'd said. _"Besides, I think I could benefit from some more_ logic _in my life at the moment. I think we both could. And I think we can learn from them, especially about meditation, which might be useful with our wandless magic."_

Spock canted his head to the side. "Worry is illogical," he said evenly.

"It may be illogical," countered Hermione, "but that's what we do when we love someone."

Spock stood and walked over to the tall cabinet that usually housed a stack of PADDs and a few hard-copy books. At the moment, there was only a single picture cube – the one he'd said his mother had given him a few years ago. This was one of the objects he'd wanted packed last.

 _An illogical emotional attachment?_ Hermione thought wryly.

Spock made to pick up the cube, but withdrew his hand at the last moment, tucking them behind his back, and opted for simply looking at the images – of his mother and father together, of a landscape with red sand and jagged mountains that looked like bricks heaved into piles.

Vulcan.

Or what used to be Vulcan.

Hermione remembered walking into his office one day and discovering him crouching on the floor, picking up the broken pieces of this cube. He'd looked . . . unsettled, his thumb bleeding – the colour startling deep emerald. She'd quickly offered to repair the cube and heal his thumb – which he'd accepted, but she couldn't help but detect self-directed anger and shame in his voice at his loss of composure. Ever since then, she had never seen him touch the cube.

"Have you – have you considered talking to someone?" she asked tentatively, when Spock didn't say anything further. "A healer, perhaps?"

"Vulcan healers are in short supply. My needs are . . . minor compared to many. I am functioning adequately."

Amanda had shared that some of the survivors of the Vulcan genocide were small children who'd lost both parents and were now struggling to live. The loss of both parental bonds at once caused a type of trauma that the Vulcan healers had not often seen. There were also countless partners who had been ripped from their bondmates without any mental preparation.

Spock hadn't lost anyone he shared a formal bond with, but the individuals of a telepathic race were connected to each other in a way that was impossible for an outsider to understand. Their minds communicated with each other; at times, called to each other, even across great distances. And when Vulcan had been destroyed . . .

Hermione could only imagine the pain that every surviving Vulcan had to live with.

Outwardly, the Vulcans she'd met seemed to be handling the tragedy better than any humans in a similar situation ever would, but Hermione could see that they were quietly suffering. It wasn't just sorrow, or shock, or grief, but a feeling of being disoriented – as if the planet Vulcan had anchored them somehow, and its loss had left the survivors in freefall.

"I see," she said slowly. "Then perhaps you could lean on us humans for support? On your family and on those who care about you and consider you a friend?"

"Many Vulcans prefer to grieve in private," he said.

"Some humans do too. But I think that most of us appreciate being able to lean on each other for support."

"I do not wish to burden anyone."

His back was still turned towards her, but Hermione saw him react even before she heard anything herself; he tensed, his head snapping up towards the door. A couple of heartbeats, and then she heard it too. A sound of footsteps – familiar, if his reaction was anything to go by. She knew Spock and his sensitive hearing could determine a person approaching by simply listening to their footsteps.

Every time she walked into his office, located on the fifth floor of the Language Building, she had a feeling that he was expecting her – not in the way one would expect someone with whom they had an appointment, but as if he'd known she was on her way the moment she came through the front doors of the building.

 _"How do you always seem to know it's me?"_ she'd asked him once as she walked into his office, unable to contain her curiosity. After all, it wasn't that rare for another professor or a student to pop into Spock's office unannounced to consult him on one matter or another.

 _"A subtle shift in the air pressure as you opened and closed the outside door, followed by your slightly laboured breathing as you rushed up the stairs. You are one of the few people who prefers to take the stairs instead of the lift, which narrows down the possibilities significantly."_

It was true that she and Harry almost never took the lift. They needed to be in a good physical shape – not only because a potential career in Starfleet demanded it, but also because their lives had taught them to be prepared for anything; stairs were their friends.

 _"It takes you on average 89.7 seconds to reach the top of the stairs on the fifth floor,"_ Spock had continued. _"From there, it is only a matter of listening to the cadence and weight behind your footsteps to confirm that it is, indeed, you."_

Hermione had been astonished. Certainly, she'd known about Vulcans' sensitive hearing, but being able to tell people apart merely from their breathing and the sound of their footsteps? It was all truly . . . fascinating.

This time, it was Nyota who walked down the hallway past Spock's office. She backtracked upon seeing Hermione to say hello.

"Commander," she said, respectfully nodding to Spock.

Hermione admired Nyota's ability to remain professional and gracefully navigate the tensions associated with having to share a workplace with someone she had feelings for. Nyota respected Spock's wishes to be given some time alone to grieve and to figure things out for himself, and had taken Hermione's advice to simply _be_.

Nyota smiled at Hermione. "We're still on for this evening, right?"

"Certainly," replied Hermione.

"Great! I'll see you soon then," said Nyota, and disappeared down the hall with one last wave.

Hermione picked up her bag once more. "Thank you, Spock, for all your help. I think I've taken up enough of your time. I should be going."

"You are welcome, Hermione."

She headed towards the door, pausing two feet in front of him. If this were Harry or James, she wouldn't think twice about reaching out and touching his forearm in a friendly gesture of comfort, but casual touching was unacceptable among Vulcans, so she restrained herself.

"Before I leave, I just wanted to say . . . about earlier . . ." she began, carefully choosing her words, both hands firmly gripping her bag. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Spock. People we love are _never_ a burden to us."

* * *

Back at his apartment, Spock lit the _asenoi_ and made a cup of tea, but after a single sip he poured the tea down the sink.

 _An evening meal, perhaps?_ But nothing in the cooler looked appealing.

He seated himself cross-legged in front of the _asenoi_ and slowed his breathing, attempting to center himself in meditation. But with every passing day, meditation seemed to grow more difficult and less effective.

He pressed his fingers to his side and felt his heart beating there, the rhythm swift and regular. The steadiness almost surprised him, as though he'd had some hidden notion that something as fundamental as his _heartbeat_ should reflect the turmoil he felt.

 _"You must seek serenity in logic,"_ his father had told him after the tragedy that had befallen their people. _"Although logic is not a solution to difficulty, it is a means of transcending it. Logic allows a person to transform fear into prudence, pain into purpose, mistakes into initiation, and desire into duty."_

 _"Logic! Logic!"_ his mother would protest. _"It's not always only about logic! It is necessary to address the emotions as well."_

And then another memory, the voice of his childhood tormentor echoing in his mind, _"You are neither human nor Vulcan and therefore have no place in this universe."_

The _asenoi_ shattered as his arm lashed out and swept it to the ground. The incense bar scattered into embers across the carpet, and Spock ground them out with his palms, almost welcoming the distraction that the physical pain offered. A sudden thump on the wall – his next door neighbour protesting the noise.

He _must_ regain his control. This was the fifth meditation pot he'd had to replace in the last 4.35 months.

Inescapably, as they always did when the matter of his own emotions came up, his thoughts drifted to his father. Sarek was everything Spock wanted to be, that the human part of him would not allow. Sarek would not smash his _asenoi_ or the picture cube. Nor would he have given in to a fit of rage on the Bridge of the _Enterprise_ . . .

Being alone in his apartment was . . . gloomy, like watching the fog rolling across the bay at twilight. Spock's gaze drifted towards his _ka'athyra_ where it was resting on his dresser. In the past, when he had been too restless to meditate, he would pick up the instrument and let his fingers drift across the strings. But ever since . . .

No one among his people had agreed on the terminology yet to describe what had happened to Vulcan. An act of terrorism? A planetary implosion? A cataclysm? Genocide? They avoided speaking of it as much as possible, but when they did, they called it _that day._

Spock set the _ka'athyra_ back and reached for a small elasticized band instead. It was one of Nyota's simple black hair bands that she usually wore, pulling her hair back from her face and up, accenting her cheekbones in a way that never failed to delight him.

This particular band was the one he'd found behind the sofa cushion shortly after he'd requested a break from their relationship. If Nyota missed it, she hadn't bothered to track it down, and he hadn't bothered to tell her he had it. Doubtless, she hadn't thought about it at all – so ordinary, so utilitarian an object had almost no intrinsic value, and was easily replaced.

But since he'd found it, he'd used it as a talisman, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently back and forth as he calmed himself when he was unable to meditate.

On some level he was ashamed, as though what he was doing was a sign of weakness or an admission of his need for comfort.

 _Attaching sentimental value to objects is illogical._

But that didn't stop him from sliding the band over the thumb of his left hand, running his fingers over it, imagining that he was touching her hair, the soft skin along the line of her jaw. Having something of hers, as illogical as it was, made him feel slightly more at peace. Or as at peace as he could get these days in his self-imposed solitude.

 _I do not wish to burden anyone._

 _People we love are never a burden to us._ Hermione's words, ringing in his ears as clear as if she were in the room right now.

He replayed their conversation earlier, puzzling over her words.

Indeed, from time to time, he had found the requests from the people he cared about – his parents, Nyota, Hermione, and a few other people he considered to be his friends – to be unwanted impositions, inconveniences, burdens on his time and attention.

But the people themselves?

Certainly not. Never. _Gifts_ , his mother would call them.

Before he knew it, he set the hair band down and drifted to the subspace transmitter. His father was on a diplomatic mission to Andoria, but his mother might be home, if she was not staying late at the medical center again. He double checked his internal clock – it was 2033 – and punched the code to his parents' number.

When his mother responded, he immediately reprimanded himself. He had obviously woken her up – her hair was disheveled and her robe draped awkwardly around her shoulders. In the background, he could see the darkened study – New Vulcan's night (unlike his destroyed home world's) correlated closely to Earth's. She looked exhausted. Her work at the hospital with the children must have been more tiring than she was willing to admit, and she must have retired to bed early.

"Mother, I apologize," he said. "Please, go back to sleep. I will call you another time."

He was already reaching for the screen to terminate the connection when his mother interrupted him.

"No, wait!" Amanda said, her voice a few decibels louder than usual and slightly panicked. "Don't go just yet."

Spock let his shields down completely, and as he often did out of habit, he first reached out mentally to his father – to the worn path to his consciousness, feeling, as he always did, both relief and mild intimidation at the orderliness there – and then his mother, detecting through their bond her worry even from light years away.

 _She worries because she loves you._

"I'm awake now," she told him more gently. "Besides, we don't really get to talk at length lately – mostly just _hi, how are you?_ – what with both of us constantly running around like headless chickens."

"Headless chickens?"

Amanda laughed. "It's just an expression. It means to be very busy doing a lot of things, but in a way that is not very effective. At least, that's how I feel sometimes – like I'm doing too many things at the same time, but not really getting anything done."

It was true that his mother called him almost daily, leaving lengthy messages when he was unavailable, but whenever they were able to talk, their conversations were shorter than in the past, often interrupted by their duties and responsibilities.

Spock canted his head and looked at her, reaching out with his mind, feeling her presence – bright and steady and humming. It was a great comfort to him, and never failed to make him feel gratitude and relief – he'd come so close to losing her.

Amanda sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I know it's a difficult time for you, Spock."

She was never one to _beat around the bush_ , as she called it.

"And I know you don't like talking about things." She leaned closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Are you afraid that talking will uncork something you aren't sure you can put back? Like some evil genie in a bottle?" she said, attempting levity.

She folded her hands on the desk, turning serious. "All joking aside, though, I'm here for you if you want to talk. I always am, you know that. I'm your mother, and you don't have to hide the truth from me."

He took a breath and opened his mouth to tell her that as a Vulcan he could not lie, but, as if reading his mind, Amanda beat him to it.

"And spare me the Vulcan mythology," she said dryly, crossing her arms. "I've lived long enough among Vulcans to know that they _can_ deceive, and they know how to dodge the truth. And in my book, that's the same thing as lying."

Spock felt momentarily abashed, remembering the few times that he did actually lie to her when he was a child – mostly regarding when his bullies had attacked him (both verbally and physically) at school and Spock not wanting to make his mother upset.

Spock steepled his hands. _People we love are never a burden to us._

But how to begin?

Amanda patiently waited for him to speak, her face anxious.

 _Sometimes you have to simply jump into things._ His mother's words, said more than once when she'd become impatient with what she considered his – or his father's – excessive calculations about a situation.

And so Spock did – he _jumped_ , sharing with her the nightmares that plagued his sleeping hours: the ones where his mother actually died, their fingertips brushing before she completely slipped away; the ones where most of the Vulcan elders died before being able to escape the katric ark; the ones where the _Enterprise_ and the Earth were destroyed, and Nero won.

His waking hours were no better. Every time he closed his eyes, the images of his nightmares or those of the black hole that had consumed Vulcan kept flashing across his mind. The echoes of the dying voices of his people shattered not only his dreams, but also made unoccupied waking moments a torment.

And nothing he tried so far had proven helpful.

He worked out late in the gym and pushed himself through the _suus mahna_ routines until he was soaked with sweat, afterwards falling asleep exhausted, only to be awoken – tangled and sweaty in his bed, his heart hammering in his side – shortly thereafter by another nightmare.

He meditated religiously, but the images still managed to flash through his mind, accompanied by sharp despair.

He buried himself in work, but the crushing, grinding grief sometimes almost physically weighed him down at unexpected times.

He _didn't_ tell Amanda, however, about his growing conviction that the only way to stop the relentless, gnawing pain was to stop feeling anything at all. No sorrow, no regret, no guilt, no anger, no . . . love.

Nothing.

He had already begun reading the treatises of the ancient Kolinahr masters, and each day the lure of emotionless life became more and more appealing. From brief conversations with his father, Spock knew that he wasn't the only Vulcan who had recently come to share this mindset.

He knew his mother would not disapprove should he choose to complete the discipline of Kolinahr and purge all emotion.

 _"As always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother,"_ she'd told him on the day he walked out of the Vulcan Science Academy to join Starfleet.

But if Spock was completely honest with himself, he wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to go through with it, for such life would be devoid of many things he currently valued – his relationship with his mother, first and foremost. He would have to let it go to achieve genuine control.

Amanda stretched out her arm towards the screen, as if she could reach through space and touch him, and told told him about her own nightmares, not so dissimilar to his own, and about her way of coping with grief.

"Sometimes," she said, "even for humans, actions can guide our emotions."

Spock canted his head to the side. "Clarify."

"It's elementary psychology, really. Act as if you're happy, and you start to feel happy. Treat someone with kindness, and you start to feel kindly towards them – that sort of thing."

"Pretense."

Amanda chuckled lightly. "Not exactly, though I can see why you'd think so. No, it's more like tricking your brain into a certain mood. We behave as we do because we feel a certain way, but the reverse is also true. We can affect our emotions by what we do."

Spock took a moment to consider her words. It all seemed counterintuitive for him. Certainly, now that he thought about it, he had observed this method work for some humans – Jim Kirk seemed to be a good example of this, as far as Spock could tell upon observing him after the events of Dolvia VII. But he was uncertain whether or not the same method would work for him.

"And, of course, talking about things is very helpful," Amanda continued. "It's an essential part of healing. I know that Vulcans put logic above all else, and think that most problems can be meditated away. And most of the time, it works well enough. But you're also human, Spock. Don't ignore that part of yourself."

She leaned forwards, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and folding her arms on the desk. "Would you like me to come to Earth?"

"That would be unnecessary – and illogical."

"There's nothing _illogical_ about a mother wanting to be with her son during a challenging time."

"It is _illogical_ , because the _Enterprise_ – and I with her – will be launching as soon as a few minor setbacks are resolved. The odds are high you would only arrive in time to see me off. Furthermore, you are needed on New Vulcan. And I will be . . . fine, Mother."

Amanda nodded slowly. "There will be a counselor on board, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Or you could always talk to someone who is much closer – in every sense of the word."

She gave him a look, and Spock understood without words exactly who she meant. He didn't say anything in response.

After a silence that lasted entire 23.8 seconds, during which Amanda studied his face intently, she sighed and slightly nodded to herself. "Just remember, Spock: you don't have to do this alone."

* * *

 ** _July 31, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

They chose a bar further away from Starfleet headquarters and the Academy, one that wasn't usually full of personnel coming off duty or cadets.

It was Harry's birthday (technically, according to the calendar in this world), and he'd opted for keeping the whole thing under wraps and having a quiet celebration with his only family. It was partly because it didn't really feel like his birthday (after all, from his perspective, he'd had it only nine months ago back home), and partly because he didn't really feel like celebrating overmuch.

Having passed their psych evals and received their assignments, most of their friends were working full-time (and sometimes overtime) on the pre-launch countdown. Starfleet Command wanted the _Enterprise_ in space as soon as possible.

In fact, the vessel was supposed to have left a week ago, but during the final inspection Scotty had discovered that the engineers who'd been left in charge of finishing the minor tasks had installed the wrong type of gaviton stabilizer, and EPS flow regulators to the aft thrusters. Scotty had been extremely unhappy, reprimanding the engineers and grumbling about having to do everything himself. Scotty was, in Harry's opinion, a bit of a control-freak, especially when it came to the starship he had been assigned to; the incident had only exacerbated his 'mother hen' tendencies.

In light of recent events and the threat of war, the fleet was scrambling – despite the recent wave of recruits – to stitch together enormous patrol sectors with maximal coverage. Shipyards worked overtime, tours of duty were lengthened, and leave was rare. Harry wasn't even sure if their friends would be gone for only a year, as had been originally planned for the shakedown cruise.

The mood certainly wasn't celebratory, but Hermione insisted that she at least prepare him his favourite dinner and bake a cake. She also presented him with a bracelet that she'd enchanted with a combination of Fidelius and Undetectable Extension Charms. It was a simple metal bracelet designed to replace his wand holster and offer a better protection for the wand – when Harry slid it into what looked like a small rectangular plate centered at the bottom of the wrist, no one but him could retrieve it.

They went out for drinks afterwards.

"So, you never really said how your girls' night out went?" said Harry, taking a sip of his drink and leaning back. It was his 'let's talk' pose, as Hermione called it.

She smiled, curling her fingers around her glass and smearing the condensation with her thumb. "We had a great time," she said simply.

Harry waited a few moments to see if she'd say anything else, but she merely took a sip of her cocktail.

"I'm glad to hear you had fun," he said finally. "Although, I must admit, I was a bit concerned. You know, what with having Gaila join you and Nyota . . ."

Hermione laughed. "We didn't do anything crazy, if that's what you're wondering. Gaila's actually good company. Well, when she's not overly drunk. She can be a bit much sometimes, but she's smart and funny. And she has a great voice – you should have heard her sing! Although, her taste in films is rather questionable."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and Harry chuckled at her expression.

A moment later, she laughed as well, looking at him over the rim of her glass.

"And what about your date?" he asked matter-of-factly.

She paused, her drink halfway to her lips. "What are you talking about? What date?"

"You know, the one with Jim the other day? In that cafe by the waterfront? I believe it's called _Timeless._ "

"What makes you think it was a date?"

"Not me. Pavel. He apparently saw you two and was under the impression you were on a date."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It wasn't a _date_. We were just talking over a cup of tea and a slice of cherry pie. Believe me, Harry, if James and I were dating – which we aren't – I'd tell you. You're my family, after all."

Harry had barely seen Jim ever since his friend got promoted and received his assignment, but he knew that Hermione saw a lot more of him. People always made time for what mattered to them, and Jim always managed to make time for Hermione, picking her up from her shift at the hospital or dropping by spontaneously at the lab; not to mention the endless text messages they exchanged.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what Hermione thought and felt about it all, but when they'd most recently hit on the topic of romantic relationships, she'd said she wasn't ready to look for another one just yet.

Jim was neither stupid nor insensitive, and had probably picked up her feelings on the matter. So, Harry was relatively certain that their relationship hadn't gone anywhere beyond friendship; still, he'd wanted to make sure, as well as satisfy his curiosity.

"Okay," he said, deciding to drop the subject.

But not before adding, "You should probably know though that Pavel isn't the only one who thinks you two are together. There are some rumours going around the Academy. Knowing you, you probably don't really care –"

"You're right, Harry. I _don't_ care. To hell with gossipers. They should really learn to mind their own damn business."

"Language," he teased, wagging a finger at her. "You normally don't swear – not unless you're really upset."

Hermione's face flushed, and Harry snorted at her expression. She'd always be the type of girl who blinked when she cursed. A proper dentists' daughter to the end.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly!"

Harry took a sip of his drink and shook his head in amusement, his eyes roaming the bar – which was filled with humans and aliens alike.

"How do we keep finding ourselves in most ridiculous situations?"

Hermione followed his gaze, catching on to the change in his train of thought. "Ten years of friendship, and I still have no clue," she replied lightly.

He slowly nodded and raised his glass, toasting her. "To our friendship then. And may strange shite never happen to us again."

She snorted. "I'm afraid you're asking for the impossible, Harry. But yes, to our friendship," she said, bringing her glass to his.

 _"I'm with you. No matter where, when, and what universe we are in – that's never going to change,"_ she had told him once.

He could count on it. On their friendship. It was as constant as the Northern Star, as unchanging as the sea, as sure as the sunrise at dawn.

And he'd be damned before he'd let anyone or anything take that away from him.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, no doubt noticing the change in his mood.

"Cartwright came up to me earlier today and tried to recruit me to be a part of some _new initiative_. Said they're looking for 'people with the right mix of intelligence, courage, and physical ability for high precision missions potentially more important to Starfleet than just peacekeeping and humanitarian.' Honestly, it sounded something like a Hit Wizard's job."

She frowned and traced her finger along the rim of her glass.

"And what did you say to him?" she asked finally.

"Told him he could go climb a tree."

Hermione looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, not in those words specifically – I still remembered my manners. But that was the implication. Honestly though, the whole thing felt _wrong_ , and that admiral sets my teeth on edge. I'd rather not cross paths with him."

She nodded. "Trust your intuition. It's always been better than mine."

Harry shook his head in disbelief, running his index finger along his new bracelet. "I just can't believe he'd think I would go off to Merlin-knows-where and leave you here alone. We're a team."

"An incomplete team," she pointed out with a certain tightness around her mouth and eyes.

"But a team nonetheless," he replied firmly. "And if Cartwright thinks otherwise, then he's an idiot."

"Well, he's not the only one who thinks that way."

"Beaufort," Harry deduced immediately.

She nodded. "He offered me a placement in some research facility . . ."

"And you said no?!" Harry exclaimed mockingly.

She rolled her eyes. "I might have an insatiable thirst for knowledge, but I'm not crazy."

"Dunno. Considering that you stuck by my side all these years, regardless of the mortal peril, I'd question your sanity," he joked.

"As long as you don't question my loyalty," she shot back flippantly.

He grinned. "Never."

Hermione smiled and opened her mouth to continue their conversation, but the words escaped her as a slim, leggy woman came up behind Harry and began to caress his shoulders. He tensed and clenched his fists, making an effort to suppress an instinct to throw her hands off himself.

The woman wore a vertiginous pair of heels (the kind that his Ginny would scathingly call 'ankle-breakers') and an outfit that left little to imagination. She was enveloped in a nauseating cloud of perfume, and her excessive amount of makeup made her about as attractive to Harry as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Her hair was swept into some fancy updo and was so heavily lacquered that not even gale-force winds might have dislodged it.

The woman failed to read his body language – his rigid posture and unwillingness to make eye contact – as _'get the hell away from me'_ message that it was meant to be.

"Hey, handsome," she purred, seductively leaning towards Harry's ear.

A petrified curl of her hair dangled low to brush his cheek. It was so firm due to excessive use of hair product, that Harry absently thought that it was a health hazard and might take someone's eye out. He certainly didn't want to be that someone.

"You're not spending your night with _her_ , are you?" she said with a distasteful look towards Hermione.

With one quick motion, Harry removed the woman's hands from his shoulders as he stood and glared at her. He could see how his best friend – dressed in a simple blue summer dress and a white cardigan, ballet flats, her hair tied back in a long plait – wouldn't have met this woman's approval. He also knew that Hermione didn't give a flying fig about people like this woman and what they said about her, but he wasn't about to sit there and listen to someone insult his best friend.

"Watch it, lady," he warned. "That's my sister you're talking about."

The woman's eyes flicked from Harry to Hermione in confusion. She opened and closed her mouth several times, reminding Harry of a fish. "I – I'm sorry."

"You should be."

The woman took a step backwards, intimidated by him. He looked at her for another moment, aware that Hermione, as in tune with him as ever, had already requested the credit register from the bartender and was pressing her hand to the electronic reader.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, offering his arm to Hermione as she slid off her stool.

She completely ignored the woman, who stood there with her mouth still open, and looped her arm through his, gently smiling at him. "Certainly."

The night was clear, with countless stars merrily blinking in the black vault overhead as they walked down the path by the waterfront. The streets were still busy with people going for an evening run, walking their dogs, or simply taking a stroll before retiring to bed.

"You said _home_ ," said Hermione.

"What?"

"You asked if I was ready to go _home._ That's the first time you referred to this place as _home_."

Harry shrugged deliberately. "I suppose it is now, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded and shivered slightly beside him.

Despite the warm weather during the day, nights here could be fairly brisk, especially when cool air came off the water as it did now. The wind was picking up, billowing in with the first threads of mist.

Harry automatically cast a warming charm over her – wandlessly and nonverbally.

"Thank you," she said with a grateful smile. "You're getting really good at wandless magic."

"You aren't so bad yourself," he shot back with a grin. "And I suppose I do fine when it comes to more simple spells. It's the more complex ones that I struggle with – for now. I plan to change that, of course. It's just that it's so exhausting and requires so much more concentration."

"Tell me about it."

They both practiced wandless magic regularly – believing that with enough discipline and determination they'd be able to, if not master it, then become proficient with it. After all, there were some cultures (such as African and Native American, among some others) on their Earth that hadn't relied upon wands for performing magic and practiced wandless magic exclusively.

They'd also begun searching for ways of channeling their magic through different means. Hermione believed that the answer lay in the Ancient Runes. Harry had never taken the discipline at Hogwarts, but began to study it on his own afterwards – especially as he had worked on Ginny's engagement ring. He still had a lot to learn, and, thankfully, Hermione had brought a number of books on the subject with her.

They continued walking in comfortable silence, each immersed in their own thoughts.

Harry looked up at the darkened skies as a few air vehicles whizzed by above their heads.

"I miss flying," he said wistfully. "And I don't mean the kind that has you shut up inside a shuttle. I'm talking about when you can feel the wind on your face or smell the fresh air right after a rainstorm."

"Well, a flying broomstick might be impossible to acquire around here, not to mention really odd and out of place, but you could always work on a flying motorcycle. I know you said you wanted to make one – just like Sirius'."

"Well, not _just_ like his. That thing was huge enough to fit Hagrid, not mention loud. I think something smaller would do. It'd go a lot faster if you worked on it with me," he finished suggestively.

Hermione met his gaze. "I always thought you wanted to work on it by yourself – without any help from anyone."

"I did. But you're not just _anyone_ , and I'd like to see if I can get to the flying part faster."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Just as long as you don't ask me to ride that thing with you."

"Oh, but that's the fun part!" said Harry, grinning mischievously.

"I'll leave that type of _fun_ to you, thank you very much."

Harry burst out laughing. Then he slapped himself on the forehead, saying, "That's right! How could I forget that you'd rather have fun in the library with all those books?"

"Stop making fun of the library," Hermione reprimanded half-heartedly as she held back a smile. "It's gotten a bit old."

"Yes, but it's just so easy."

She lightly poked a finger in his ribs, but it only made him laugh harder. Once he quieted down, he smiled fondly at her. "I remember you screaming like a schoolgirl when we rode on Buckbeak."

"I _was_ a schoolgirl."

"True enough. But I imagine you'd still scream the same way even now."

Hermione smiled wryly. "Probably. And you'd tease me about it endlessly, wouldn't you?"

They grinned at each other like nutters, laughter bubbling beneath the surface.

"Speaking of flying, and magical creatures," Hermione said, "did you know there are these dragon-like species on Berengaria VII?"

"Oh yeah? Tell me more."

Harry put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they walked in unison, matching each other's stride, and ready to face whatever else their new lives might throw at them.

Together.

* * *

A/N. The idea of Harry and Hermione going to New Vulcan for a while belongs to _**Separ**_. I merely ran with it, adding more in the process. So, thank you to **_Separ_**!

Thanks for reading! Double and triple thanks for leaving a review!


	27. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. _Star Trek_ is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.

My gratitude goes to my beta, amazing **_Insanity-Red_** , for all her help. She's a gem, and I can't thank her enough :) Feel free to find her under my "Favourite Authors" and check out her stories.

* * *

Epilogue

 ** _August 8, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth_**

"I'll miss you, James."

"I'll miss you more."

Around them, the hangar buzzed with activity. Some hurried towards their designated shuttles – to the _Enterprise_ or to the _Stargazer_ (the ship that Harry and Hermione were to take to New Vulcan) – and some were still saying their goodbyes. Officers supervised the stream of passengers and loading of cargo, going over their lists and making sure everything was in order.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not a competition, you know."

"Nope. It's a fact."

He gave her his high-wattage perfect smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. They held that one expression, which she'd witnessed quite often as of late.

At first, she'd thought she was seeing things. Then it was the stage of denial, thinking that she was most definitely _not_ seeing things, but they certainly couldn't be true. And now she had no idea what to think, feeling simultaneously guilty and giddy, terrible and wonderful, happy and sad. And slightly frightened. She didn't think she'd ever felt this many conflicting emotions at once about anyone or anything.

But then again, she'd never lost her entire world either. She was well aware of how grief could make people feel, think, and behave in ways they couldn't even begin to understand.

But was it just that, or . . .?

Several different emotions flashed across his face as his eyes travelled down to her lips and rested there for a few moments. Something inside her lurched unexpectedly.

He gave his head a slight shake and held his arms open. "Can I just . . .?"

She walked into his arms and returned the hug, breathing in the citrus tang of his aftershave, absorbing the warmth of his body, and marveling in the wonderful feeling of simply being held. Time briefly stopped, stretched, disappeared as they stood there, parting the flow of people milling to and fro around them much like Moses must have parted the Red Sea.

"James, I've got –"

"Mia, I wanted –"

Lately they had been doing this a lot – beginning sentences together and having to pause, linguistically dancing around each other. _You first. No, you._

They pulled away and chuckled. He nodded for her to speak.

Instead, Hermione pulled a small package wrapped in shimmering, blue paper out of her duffel bag.

"Your going away present," she said, handing it to him. "Don't open it now, though. Wait till you're on the _Enterprise._ "

James accepted it, laughing and shaking his head. "I don't believe this. Oh, this is great."

She looked at him in question. Instead of offering any explanation, he lifted her off her feet and twirled her around, making multiple heads snap in their direction. He placed a small kiss on her forehead before putting her down and pulling away.

"This is so awesome!" he exclaimed giddily.

Hermione felt her cheeks heating up, still unsure what's gotten into him. It was just a small present, after all.

He crouched and reached into his own duffel bag to pull out a nearly identical package – it was around the same size and wrapped in almost the same blue paper.

"I got something for you too," he said, grinning at her wickedly. "But since I can't open it now, you can't either. Wait till you get to the _Stargazer_."

She accepted the package and stared at it for a moment.

"This is . . . quite incredible," she finally said.

"Yep. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you read my mind."

"I didn't!"

"I _know_ you didn't, which is why it's so awesome! And I love it!"

He pulled her in for another hug and a kiss on the cheek.

He then analyzed his present, lightly shaking it and weighing it on the palm of his hand. "Amazing. Judging by the weight, I'd say my present is clearly different from yours." He leaned closer and whispered into her ear jokingly, "I hope this isn't that crazy book we discussed the other day about a world with zombies, and the main couple just mooning at each other the entire story?"

"Goodness, no! Why would I get you _that_ book?" she replied, wrinkling her nose. "And I think you meant to say 'mooning _over_ each other.' Because otherwise, it would mean that . . . you know . . . erm . . ."

She trailed off and stared at him. He stared right back. And then he exploded with laughter, doubling over and bracing himself with one hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks . . . for the . . . mental . . . image," he sputtered out between laughs.

She laughed with him.

"Careful, kids," said Leonard gruffly, popping up behind James and tossing his duffel bag on the ground. "Keep having _that_ much fun and it might actually end up being good for your health."

James straightened up, gasping for air and clutching at his stomach.

"Aw, c'mon Bones, don't look so grumpy," he said, finally catching his breath and still grinning like a nutter. "We're going into space! It's gonna be fun!"

Leonard made a face and crossed his arms, then looked away, muttering something that sounded like, "I can't believe this guy."

James looked to Hermione. "Mia, what do you say to us improving his mood? Hugs always make everything better. Group hug!"

He gathered Leonard and Hermione in his arms, eliciting protests and giggles from them respectively.

"Tell me, Freckles," said Leonard, pulling away. "Why do we tolerate this little shit?"

"Hey!" James interjected, and then grinned mischievously. "And it's _Captain_ Little Shit to you."

Hermione smiled. "Because he's our friend, and we love him?" she replied.

James looked rather pleased with that answer.

"You shouldn't be saying that out loud, Freckles," said Leonard. "It'll only serve to boost his ego, and it's big enough already. We're supposed to occasionally poke holes in it, you know. Otherwise he'd be really insufferable."

James merely laughed at that, and Hermione picked up her duffel bag, shaking her head in amusement, and placed the package inside.

"Look after our accident-prone friend, will you?" she told Leonard, patting him on the shoulder.

"That's why I'm here," he replied.

"Even though _'space is death, disease, and danger wrapped in darkness in silence'_?" she teased.

"You remember that? Never mind. Of course you do. But yeah. Things I do for my friends . . ." Leonard sighed. "God help me."

* * *

". . . which brings us to the problem of micro-fractures in the dilithium articulation frame," spoke Scotty animatedly as Harry accompanied him and Keenser to the shuttle that would take them up to the _Enterprise_.

An officer passed by with an anti-grav sled loaded with crates, prompting the three to move out of his way.

"I may not yet have much hands-on experience when it comes to _Constitution_ -class starships," Scotty continued, as if there were no interruptions.

Harry and Keenser exchanged a look, and the little Roylan shook his head in what Harry thought was exasperation.

"But according to the manuals and technical journals I've read so far, the typical frame requires a safety check every thirty . . ." Scotty trailed off and smiled apologetically. "I've gotten off topic again, haven't I, mates?"

Harry looked at him, amused. "Yup."

"Sorry."

"Excited much?"

"I don't think there's a word to describe just how much."

"Well, now you can fondle _Enterprise_ 's ample nacelles any time you want."

"That sounded kinda pervy, mate."

They laughed uproariously, and Keenser merely blinked and said nothing.

"You know something?" Harry said to Scotty. "Other than your occasional rambles, I think you're a good teacher, and if one day you decide that you've had enough of space and choose to teach at the Academy, I reckon you'd be excellent at it."

"Dunno, Harry. I tried teaching a few classes here and there. But I'm not sure teaching wet-nosed cadets is really my thing."

Harry laughed and jabbed his thumb at himself. "Well, _I_ learned a lot from you, and I suppose you might call me a wet-nosed cadet."

Scotty shook his head and said seriously, "I'd never call you that. But feel free to call me anytime – if you've got some engineering-related questions, or a science project you want to discuss, or if you just feel like talking to a friend." He frowned slightly. "Promise me we'll continue working on that subspace transmitter. We should always be in range of subspace relays – at least until the shakedown is over."

Harry offered a nod in agreement.

Scotty shifted his duffel bag from one shoulder to the other. "Well, hopefully you'll join us in space one day. Until then, have fun, Harry. And don't do anything I wouldn't." He furrowed his brow and rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand. "Actually, you probably shouldn't do some of the things I would either."

Harry grinned. "You mean, like, I shouldn't build a transporter in my room and then use it to test on some admiral's dog?"

"Definitely not. You dinnae wanna end up on some icebox of a planet with only someone like Keenser for company."

Keenser harrumphed indignantly.

"No offense, wee man," said Scotty, clapping Keenser's shoulder. "You're great, but ye aren't very talkative, which sometimes can be a good thing, of course, but most of the time I've been bored te death."

Scotty looked up at Harry. "Although, I'd like to see those admirals try doing to you what they did to me –"

Nyota suddenly appeared behind Scotty. "Ah, there you are," she told Harry. "I've already said my goodbyes to Hermione earlier, but you, my friend, managed to slip away somehow. I expect I have our Chief Engineer to blame for that." She laughed before giving Harry a brief hug. "Safe travels, and don't be a stranger."

Harry smiled back. "Wouldn't dream of it."

At that moment, a disembodied female voice from somewhere overhead encouraged the passengers of shuttle 15, U.S.S. _Stargazer_ , to get on board and prepare for departure.

"Well, I've got to go," said Harry. Then he gave Scotty and Keenser a handshake and a brief hug. "Stay safe out there."

* * *

 ** _Stardate 2258.322 – coordinates 23-17-46-11, Section 31's Io Facility_**

"He's waking up."

There was a swishing sound, an object was dragged, something whirred by his ear. Two voices murmured.

"I'll fetch Dr. Vyas."

Consciousness was a slippery thing, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess.

He fought to get free of the darkness, trying to anchor himself in the surrounding sounds, absorbing them, letting them crystallize, letting his mind play catch-up, as he recognized some of them and tried to distinguish the others.

"John?" a muffled voice called out.

It was at this point that he became aware of the gnawing feeling that something was wrong with his body and of the pain – a dull, relentless headache. The rest of his body – which felt strangely foreign – hurt, as it had done when he . . .

When he . . . ?

Trying to remember was like trying to catch the rain with his fingers.

"This is incredible. I've never seen anything like it." A new voice.

"What is it?"

"His brain activity and these readings . . . By all rights, we shouldn't be seeing readings like these for at least another month, maybe more. His regenerative capabilities are astonishing –"

"The procedure. Will it still work?"

There was some beeping and whirring, and then, "Yes, I believe it will."

"You _believe_ it will?"

He could hear the words, but couldn't understand what they were saying. The pain in his head had become a thumping, rushing sound, building in volume and intensity.

He opened his eyes a little. Two indistinct shapes moved around him. Every time he thought he had worked out what they were, they moved again. Grey. One was grey, and the other . . . white.

There was a water pitcher beside him. His gaze settled on it, letting the shape and the colour solidify. _Water_ , he said. And again, rolling the silent word around the inside of his head: _water_. It felt important, as if it were anchoring him in here and now.

"It is hard to tell at the moment, but . . . Admiral . . ."

A brief silence followed, and then more beeping and whirring.

"John, can you hear me?" one of the voices, male, was now more clear, closer somehow.

It was then that he realized how dry his mouth was. He closed his lips and swallowed painfully. He wanted to ask for some water, but the words wouldn't come.

"Are you sure he can hear me?"

"Quite sure." This voice was definitely female. "But he may find communicating rather difficult to begin with. I'm going to administer something to help the process." The white figure seemed to turn and say to someone else, "Prepare 10 ccs of hyperzine and 5 ccs of triptacederine."

There was some shuffling, clicking, and then another white figure emerged from somewhere. Something cool pressed against his neck and released its contents with a hiss. Immediately, the pain subsided and warmth spread through his body, making it easier to fight the darkness that threatened to reclaim him.

He swallowed and attempted to speak. "Wa . . . water . . . water . . ." His voice was barely above whisper.

"What did he say?" asked the male.

"I believe he's asking for water," replied the female.

There was a sound of water being poured, and then the white figure of the female was helping him drink. "Small sips. Easy now. That's it," she said encouragingly, her gentle hand supporting his neck. "You don't want it coming back up."

When he was done, she eased him down, fixing his pillow for him. With every passing moment, his vision cleared, and with it – his awareness of his surroundings.

The woman in white stepped aside and the man in grey came forward.

"Welcome back, John," he said.

"Whhh . . . Where . . ." he managed to say, his voice weak and hoarse. He slowly sat up. "Where . . . am I?"

The man smiled. "Home, John. You're home."

The man stepped closer, his arms folded behind his back. "You won't remember it. You won't remember much of anything. But my name is Alex Marcus. And I've been your friend for years."

"Alex . . ." he managed. "And I'm . . . John?"

Alex nodded. "Yes. John Harrison."

He turned towards the woman. "Doctor, if you would, please?"

She hesitated. "Call me if you need me," she replied finally, before silently leaving the room.

"You're a Starfleet commander," Alex continued. "Five months ago you were critically injured on a mission to Qo'noS, the Klingon home world. Brain trauma that should have left you catatonic for life; I was told your hippocampus was damaged, among other things. But the best surgeons in Starfleet – and the fact that you're the strongest, toughest, and most stubborn bastard I know – brought you back."

Too much. It was too much. As John tried to process the barrage of information, an intense headache flared up, causing him to groan.

"Oh, my head," John let out, rubbing at his temples. "Starfleet? Qo'noS? Klingon? I don't . . . I don't remember anything. I don't know who I _am_."

"You will," Alex said reassuringly. "You're suffering from a severe form of amnesia. You may never regain all of your memory, but I'm going to do my best to help you. Dr. Vyas tells me there is hope. She thinks that the more you re-learn, the more you might be able to remember on your own. These are the early days, John. And they'll be the hardest. But you won't go through them alone."

Alex's words may have been meant to put John at ease , but they did nothing to quell his rising panic. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand.

Alex placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's probably not such a good idea right now."

John shrugged his hand off and pushed past him, stumbling over his feet and nearly falling flat on his face.

"See? What did I tell you?" said Alex, chuckling, as he caught him around the waist. "You're one stubborn bastard."

A few moments later, John was able to stand on his own without any assistance. He examined his surroundings more carefully. He was in a room with a bed and some kind of machinery that hummed and made random bleeps. On the one side of the room, there was a large floor-to-ceiling window through which a planet – covered in thick red, brown, yellow, and white clouds – could be seen.

"And this . . . place?" he asked, slowly and unsteadily walking towards the window and lifting a hand to touch it. "How did we get here?"

He could see his own reflection: dark hair, pale skin, high cheekbones, ice blue eyes. None of his features seemed familiar – he might as well have been looking at a stranger. It was very disconcerting. Shouldn't something as fundamental as one's own looks be at least somewhat familiar – severe form of amnesia notwithstanding?

"It's a top secret space station," replied Alex, coming to stand beside John. "Only a few people in Starfleet know it exists. Even fewer know what it's really for. For the last year, it's been your base of operations."

John turned to look at him. "You said I was on a mission. I was a . . . soldier?"

"Not just a soldier. You were extraordinary. And soon you're going to be extraordinary again," finished Alex, placing a hand on John's shoulder.

Alex walked to the side table located near the bed and picked up a translucent, rectangular object.

"Here, this is called a PADD. It's very simple to operate," he said, handing the object to John and showing him how to use it. "You have access to your service record, as well as some other information that might help you remember things."

"Thank you," replied John, accepting the PADD.

Alex smiled again and nodded. "It'll be alright, John. You'll see."

* * *

As soon as Alex Marcus left the private isolation room, he was joined by Lieutenant Weber.

"How is he?" she asked as they walked down the hallway.

"How is he? He's a damn miracle, that's how he is. Make sure those guards stay posted outside his room at _all_ times, and let me know if he so much as sneezes."

"Yes, sir. He's going to have a lot of questions about –"

"That's my concern," Alex cut her off. "Yours is to keep an eye on him, and the other seventy-five _guests_ we have in Cargo hold 5."

* * *

END OF PART ONE.

TBC . . .

* * *

A/N. Thus ends Part 1 in the series.

Thank you for reading! Live long and prosper!


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